



■?K^8sr 



TALES OF THE TURF 



"RANK OUTSIDERS." 



, V- "i^S* 




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■^ 



^ 






TALES OF THE TURF 



AND 



ii 



RANK OUTSIDERS." 



By Richard L. Gary, Jr. 

(" HYDER AL,I ") 



WITH THIRTY-ONE ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY GEAN SMITH. 




CHICAGO: 

F. J. SCHULTE & COMPANY, Publishers, 

29S Dearborn Street. 






Copyright, 1891, 
By FRANCIS J. SCHULTE. 

All Risrlits Resc't-ved. 



All the illustrations iiv this volvuue are from original 
paintings, made especiaMy lOr this work, and are pro- 
tected by the general copyright. The engraving was- 
done by the Photo-Tint Company, Chicago. 



Press of Horace O'Donoghue. 



To the memory of 

AUGUST BELMONT, 

The typical racing iT[an of y\merica, 

tF]e accomplished patrorj of the Turf of the New World, 

to wh|0se noble example and enthusiastic patronage 

its present status and prosperity 

are m[ainly due, 

tl-jis volume is appreciatively dedicated by 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



TALICS OV Till-: TURF. 

lV//j> Raiu-iii-t he-Face was Scratched ,'7 

Hotv Smuggler beat the Maid 28 

Ike Murphy s Ride 

When JIuutress won the Stake .q 

Dandy Jim's Dream; or, I low the liroivn Colt won the Derby . . 43 

An Oivncrs Opinion -^ 

Bcttic Simpkins' Mare -^ 

Shozving the Thoroughbreds rr. 

The Paddock Gate, and how it ivas Opened .60 

" ^'^'^otty- \ ^^ 

In Luck- TotJi Ways (3„ 

Old In-ccland _ 

That Thoroughbred Nell: A Tale of Kentucky in 186 j .... 72 

The Hero of the Stable -o 

Hozv Roy Wilkes Dozvned the Gang ^ 3q 

Miss Woodford o. 

A Colored Tip 87 

Forbidden Fruit; or, IIoiv Flying Cloud ivas Saved 89 

Why the Captain Quit Racing ^r 

Burton s Prairie Belle; or, Ihnv the Cup zvas Run and Won ... 97 

7710 7)rivers Story ^.^ 

Bob Aiken's 7<ide to 7)eath jqq 

71ic Deacon's 7^urchase jqc 

Hotv Wild 7iose ivon the Cup i q7 

The Biters 7iit j j j 

/// Mem,oriam , , , 

114 

7h-ide of Montgomery j . r 

Little SnnsJiine and Bonnie Grace 11 5^ 

Lexington: A Fragment 121 

McCarthy' s Plug Hat j2o 

TJie Tout 's Story j ^ . 

7hids of Spring . 2q 

9 



lO Co/ifoits. — Co //cI Itemed. 

" RANK OU rSIDlCRS." 

Page. 

The 0/ii .^fcin and t/ic I'dst Mail '33 

An Outcast's Story ^3^ 

Billy Bnnvii of Kokoiiio H-' 

The New 2[ag,lalc>i i47 

T/ie Modern Style U9 

Sandys Nngort 151 

Menndjim i53 

Her Ei'enini^- Prayer i 5^"^ 

My Fat Iters Mill i 59 

T/ie Old-Fasliioned Way 161 

Tlie Sentinel's Story 162 

Merey May i<^4 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 



" So szvept Roy Wilkes along the track and finis/icd all alone." FuoN'risrnanc 

" The Colored Archer.'' 20 

" I thought yoti knew Jiob loved vie." . 25 

" She beats hiui home by half a length! The courtiers smile again.'' . 31 

" You've got him, Jim! The mare tvill ivin! " 41 

" At the end of a mile a gray colt led; the black at his ivithers lay." 45 

'' And site said: 'I')n Bet tie Simpkifis.' " 54 

'' Dis yar hoss, Mistah Presiden' , am Bonnie Scotlan's son." ... 57 
" There 's Saunderson! I thought him dead: by Jove, he 's on the Lark! " 61 
"/ saddled Seotty, an' just as day broke over the mountains, I rode 

away." 65, 

" TJie grandest race-horse in all tJie land." 71 

" Down the old turnpike road, zvith her crippled blue load." . . ■ 7S 

" In the dark o' Satan's stall. " ... 79 

" The daughter of old Fancy Jane." . H5 

" Flying Cloud don't get no apple 'fore this race, you understand ! " . 91 
" Dead under the wire, and a zvinner too, lay Burton's Prairie Belle. " 97 
" Must I weigh in the corpse ? For the jockey that rode Saul, the win- 
ner, is dead !" .... . . 103 

" While that gray horse, The Dart, shozved a touch of faint heart. 

And old Wild Rose zuas gaining as steady as fate." . . .109 

" Ttvo trainers close together lay. " 112 

" 7) ride of Montgomery." 115 

" On po' little SunsJiinc's grabe. " . . 120 

" // looms up like a light- house seen through a fog." 123 

'' J ler coming flyers — Jhtds of Spring." 130 

" 'They didn't think that the stage-coach zuas lumberiti' , old and slozv." 134 
" And then as azvay it vanished, zvith a flash like a comet's tail." . 135 

Still from Schaefer's magic cue." .143 

" The old church fell to ruins, Tom, beneath the touch of time." . .149 
" An' zve knowed zvhar the bluebirds built tJieir nests." ... • '55 
" The girls snuggled in, zvith the boys at their side." 161 

We'd stopped for a chat at the e7id of our beat." 163 

Turned Out 167 



INTRODUC'I ION. 

Tin- writer deeply appreciates tlu^ ])rivile<^'-e of writino- the 
iiUrocluction to this charinino- collection of tril)iitc>s to the o-lory 
of the turf 

lo a man whose morning- and noon-da)' of life have been 
spent in the love and lal)or of tlu^ turf these ocms are indeed 
pleasant to liold and dwell upon. I have read but two. 
turf poets — Adam Lindsey Ciortlon (the ])rilliant but ill- 
starred Australian) and Richard L. Gary. Jr., the author of this 
book. Here you may not fnul the tumultuous passa^-es of 
Gordon, but )-ou fmd a smooth and wholly enticino- reiteration 
of the spirit of man's noblest sport. In these pa^es I have 
found the tender blended with the stern, the calm and beauti- 
ful temperin_o- the rollicking- and oay, the path(;tic colorin*,^ 
the abandon, and the kind and the austere mino-led in the 
seductive voice of song-. 

The orlories of the turf; the almost divine enthusiasm that 
thrills all our veins in the sublime interest of contc^st; the wild 
excitement of the fmish — all these are reechoed in the flow- 
ingr tones of a poet whose st\-le is never labored and never 
stilted. 

In the paoes that follow many of my hours have been: 
made pleasanter and better — they have o-iven rise to a hig-her 
devotion to the supcM-b animal whose admiration is with me, 
and with most of those who read these poems, a passion; 
and I commend them to all horsemen whose better moments, 
are o-iven to "the sweetness and th(> lio-ht" of this work-day 
world. 

Leslie E. Macleod, 

Editor of The Ilorscuian^ 



I. 

TALES OF THE TURF. 



TALES OF THE TURF. 

WHY RAIN-IN-THE-FACE WAS SCRATCHED. 

A Romance of W,\shingto.n Park. 

Bob Jackson sat one night in June 

And watched the roses red in bloom. 

Beneath his straw hat, latest style, 

Of Dunlap's make, there lurked a smile. 

Dreamincr he sat, and, where he dreamed. 

The moonbeams through the casement streamed 

Like a silver brook that had turned aside 

In the dark, and sought a place to hide. 

He dreamed of a rose-embowered cot, 

By the trees half hid, on a corner lot, 

By a turnpike road that stretched away 

Among the blue-grass fields that lay 

And smiled in the face of the summer sun, 

Where the streamlets laugh as they onward run; 

Of a slender form and a winsome face 

That smiled in his with a fairy grace; 

Of the home that he meant to have some day 

When the wheel of fortune turned his way. 

But when he glanced toward the far-off track, 
Dark, with its stables over back, 
His dreaming ceased, and he somehow thought 
Of the three-year-old that day he'd bought, — 



1 8 Ta/cs of tJic Turf. 

A likely colt, with a pedigree 
That would almost reach from sea to sea, — 
And he wondered how on earth he'd pay 
The books all off if he lost next day; 
For Bob had plunoed in a plung-er's way. 

Bess Burroughs slowly climbed the stair, 
Hummine over an old-time air, 
Such as mothers used to croon 
In the old slave days by the dark lao-oon. 
To their pickaninnies, when the dark 
Was only lit by the o^low-worm's spark, 
And the cotton-fields in their robes of white 
Were tucked away by the goddess Night. 

Over her shoulders, white and fair. 

There streamed the wealth of her gold-brown hair, 

While the dusky splendor of her eyes 

Burned like twin stars in midnight skies, 

And her dainty footsteps fell as light 

On the marble stair as the feet of Night. 

Blushing, she paused at the open door 

Of the moonlit room, on the parlor floor, 

To ask — you know 'tis a woman's way — 

What horse he thought it were best to play 

In the Drexel Stakes to be run next day. 

Bob, smiling, rose, and with courtly grace 
Escorted Bess to the vacant place 
By the window seat, while the roses red 
Bent low at the sight oi' her sunny head. 
"Ah, Bess," he said, "in a racing way 
I've not been right for many a day; 
But this afternoon, when at the track, 
I bought of Harper a handsome black, 
Bv Ten Broeck, out of a War Dance mare. 
The bovs had christened Lord o' Clare. 



Why Rain-in-thc-Facc was Scratched. 19 

"I like the way he moves; and, Bess, 
I've backed him for a fortune ! Yes, 
Unless he wins, my racing-'s o'er; 
My colors will be seen no more. 
But should he win. Oh, Bess ! my dear, 
Will you be mine; tliis very year, 
Before the roses fade and die 
And flakes of snow across the sky 
Are blown and fall to earth below ? 
Pray tell me, Bess, — I love you so ! 
For God's sake answer Yes or No ! " 

Bess Burroui^dis bent her c^old-brown head; 
Her cheeks were like the roses red; 
Her dainty hand, a snowflake white. 
Sought his, and, while a sudden light 
Crept to her eyes, she whispered low: 
"Bob, why will you keep plunginw- so? 
Your Lord o' Clare can never win ! 
Papa's brown colt will beat him in. 
If yours is first" — a look of pride 
Shone in her eyes — " I'll be your bride 
Before the roses fade and die, 
Ere snowflakes drift across the sky. 
To win, your Lord o' Clare must fly !" 

And then she whispered low: "Good-nicdit," 

And left him standing in the light 

That through the open casement streamed. 

And like a flood of silver gleamed 

Upon the carpet, while she sought 

Her dainty room and sat and thought, 

All he(;dless of the flight of time, 

Until the cuckoo clock chimed nine 

Upon her mantel. "Lord o' Clare 



20 



Ta/cs of the TiLvf. 

Must win! " she whispered. Like a prayer 
That sentence fell upon the air. 

Jack Burroughs, withered, gray and bent. 
Sat figuring-, in calm content, 
How much the Drexel, figured net. 
Would yield the winner, — for he'd set 




The Colored Archer. 

His heart on winning that same race 
With his brown colt, Rain-in-the-Face, 
By Billet, out of Prairie Belle, 
By Rebel, second dam Can't Tell, — 
When Bess crept in with blushing face 
For his opinion of the race. 

"Why, Bess," the old man chuckling said, 
" Rain-in-the-Face has got it dead ! 
There's not a horse that's entered there 
Can make him run, save Lord o' Clare. 



JfViy Rain-in-thc-Facc was Scratched. 

But even he can never beat 

My orallant brown, who's strong and fleet 

As any horse I've ever seen; 

Yes, better, Bess, than Sweet Sixteen 

Was at his age, and — well, )'ou know 

How fast that llyinof mart; could o-o — 

Aye ! faster than the winds that blow ! " 

Bess bent and kissed the old gray head; 
Then, blushing scarlet, softly said: 
** Papa, I know Rain-in-the-Face 
Can win, but in to-morrow's race 
He must not start. Please, for my sake, 
Scratch the brown colt if you would make 
Me very happy, and I'll bless 
You all my life ! " 

'' Why, see here, Bess!" 
The old man answered, while his eyes 
Sought hers as if he would surprise 
Her secret; " I have backed my colt, 
And now you're asking me to bolt 
The course, and all for Lord o' Clare. 
It'sboth suspicious and unfair. 
Old Harper can afford to lose 
The stake. No ! Bess, I must refuse 
To humor you. ' Twould be a sin ! 
Rain-in-the-Face must start and win 1 " 

^' No, papa, no!" Bess softly cried; 
*T know the colt's your pet and pride, 

But I want Lord o' Clare to win. 

Oh, papa, dear, I can't begin 

To tell my reasons, but some day 

You'll know them ! Let me have my way — 

Please, just this once !" And eyelids wet 

With tears were raised to his. 



21 



Ta/cs of the Turf. 

"My pet," 
The old man answered, " have your way; 
The colt shall start some other day. 
And Lord o' Clare shall win the race, 
For I'll not start Rain-in-the-Face '/' 

Bess Burroug-hs, in a woman's way. 

Thanked the old man and fled away 

To her own room, and there, beside 

Her snowy couch, she knelt and cried 

For very joy, while down below 

Bob Jackson, pacing to and fro, 

Dreamed of a laughing, winsome face. 

That, somehow, seemed to haunt the place; 

Of dusky eyes, of hair g-old-brown, 

Until the lights were out in town; 

Then sought his couch with whispered prayer 

That He who ruled o'er earth and air 

Would victory give to Lord o' Clare. 

Next morn the hotel blackboard bore 
Two lines not seen the night before: 
" Rain-in-the-Face won't start to-day, 
For women e'en must have their way ! " 
And much the turfmen marveled when 
They read the words, for racing men 
Knew old Jack Burroughs through and through. 
And knew his winsome daughter, too; 
But why he should not start the brown 
L^nless the colt had broken down 
They could not yet quite understand. 
How true it is that all the land 
Is ruled and by a woman's hand ! 

Bob Jackson, rising ere the lark, 
Between the davliq'ht and the dark. 



Why Rain-in-tJie-Face was Scratched. 23 

Had sought the track that lay asleep 
Beneath the clouds, God's fleecy sheep, 
To see himself that Lord o' Clare 
Was given just the best of care; 
Nor had he heard Rain-in-the-Face 
Was not to start in that day's race 
Until his trainer, chuckling low, 
Said: " Burroughs' colt is not to go, 
And, barring accidents, we'll win 
The Drexel Stakes as sure as sin. 
This time I'll lead the winner in." 

Night slowly fled before the dawn; 

The stars waxed dim and then were gone. 

Across the fields a veil of gray 

Came drifting where the moonbeams play; 

Then Morning, rising from her bed. 

Hurled at the Night her lance of red. 

That, striking on the shield of Night, 

Fell, broken, back in beams of light. 

The rose-leaves quivered in the air, 

The lark sent up its morning prayer, 

And robins whistled everywhere; 

The south wind whispered in the corn 

That raised its spears to greet the morn; 

And so a rare June day was born. 

The day waned into afternoon; 

The air was heavy with perfume; 

A great crowd gathered at the course; 

The gentler sex turned out in force. 

The first two races had been run, 

A rank outsider winning one, 

The favorite in that same race 

Not even running to a place; 

And now the eager watchers wait 

The Drexel Stakes ! 



24 Talcs of the Turf. 

Beside the gate 
That led out on the level track, 
There stood, a great crowd at his back, 
The Californians' pride, Ben Bolt, 
A slashing-, handsome, big bay colt. 
By Grinstead, out of Clara D. ; 
Full live years old he looked to be. 
Beyond him, with a kingly air 
And coat of jet, stood Lord o' Clare. 
Sir Launcelot and Heart of Oak, 
Romain, Falstaff and Artichoke 
Made up the held, and in the sun 
They looked like racers every one. 

Beneath the club-house on the lawn. 
Fair as a goddess of the dawn, 
Bess Burroughs stood, her dusky eyes 
Reflecting back the light that lies 
Along the lovelit ways of June, 
When earth and sky are both atune. 
Beside her, leaning on his cane, 
Jack Burroughs stood, and o'er again 
Repeated: " Lord o' Clare will win ! 
Ben Bolt, I think, will chase him in. 
Those Californy chaps don't know 
That colt of Harper's. Down below, 
At Louisville, I saw him run 
A trial that humped the watches some — 
He's fast as bullet from a gun." 

A bugle blown upon the stand 

Sent its wild notes across the land 

To call the rival racers out. 

And kerchiefs white were tossed about 

When Ben Bolt slowly galloped by, 

A silhouette airainst the skv. 



nViy Rain- in-the- Face was Scratched. 25 

Sir Launc(;l()t and Heart of Oak, 
Romain, P^ilstaff and Artichoke 
Were i^reeted well. A mio-hty shout 
Cauoht Lord o' Clare when ridden out. 

The colored Archer turned his head 
And raised his cap of white and red; 
While into old Jack liurroui^hs' eyes 

There crept a look of great surprise. 
He glanced at Bess and muttered low: 
" Young folks must wed and old must go ! " 
Then said aloud: "Well, I declare, 
If Harper ain't sold Lord o' Clare, 
And to Bob Jackson ! I can guess 
Those reasons that you can't express. 
I say, though, you're a sly one, Bess ! " 

Bess Burroughs' cheeks were all aflame 
A moment, then grew white again. 
" Papa," she said, " I thought you knew 
Bob loved me, and — I love him too! 
If Lord o' Clare should win to-day. 
He means to take your lass away, 
If you will let him, ere the leaves 
Turn red and gold, and while the sheaves 
Still ripen in the autumn sun — " 
" Well, Bess, though you're the only one 

That's left," the old man answered back, 
"If you're disposed to bolt the track 

With Bob, I will not say you nay. 

For young blood must be served, they say; 

It's been so since Creation's day." 

Just at that moment, loud and clear, 

A Californian standing near 

Yelled : "Who will bet against Ben Bolt ? 

Five thousand that he beats that colt 




=" / thought you laieio />(>/> lo7<cd inc.'''' 



26 Ta/cs of tJic Turf. 

Called Lord o' Clare ! " " Til take you," cried 
Old Jack, with true Kentucky pride. 
And, putting up the cash, he turned 
To Bess, with manner unconcerned. 
And whispered in her blushino^ ear: 
" They'll never beat him ! Don't you fear ! 
Kentucky still can show the wa)- 
To Californy any day ! 
That cash will come in by and by 
Most mighty handy. Birds that Hy 
From old Jack's nest must needs fly high." 

"They're off!" The shout went up at last. 
The pace, right from the start, was fast; 
Ben Bolt and Lord o' Clare, abreast. 
Were first away and led the rest; 
Right at their withers. Heart of Oak 
A head in front of Artichoke; 
Romain and Falstaff, side by side. 
Each swiftly measured stride for stride; 
While, galloping behind the lot, 
Came the iron gray. Sir Launcelot. 

Around the lower turn they flew, 
And then Romain's red, white and blue 
Was first to show, with Artichoke 
In second place; next Heart of Oak, 
While Californy and Kaintuck 
Ran head and head back in the ruck; 
Right next to them. Sir Launcelot, 
With Falstaft" "tailing" oft" the lot. 
The dust that rose, a golden cloud. 
Half hid them from the eaofer crowd. 
The silks and satins, o-leamine brieht, 
Were ever shifting in the light — 
A flock of humming-birds in flight. 



Why Rain-in-the- Face was Scratched. 2f 

Into the stable-turn Romain 
Still showed the way, and then again 
Another change, and Heart of Oak 
Sailed to the front with Artichoke. 
Sir Launcelot flew like a bird 
Around the bend, and soon was third. 
A shout went up : " Just see Ben Bolt ! 
And like a flash the Grinstead colt 
Shot out in front ! Cheers rent the air. 
Riofht on his flanks hun"f Lord o' Clare, 
While, only half a length away, 
With steady strides there came the gray. 
A furlong out whips flashed in air. 
••Ben Bolt is beaten ! " " Lord o' Clare 
Will win ! " Bess Burroughs breathed a prayer. 

On toward the goal the racers swept. 

And, inch by inch, the black colt crept 

Up on the leader, while the gray 

Was still but half a length away. 

A distance out Sir Launcelot 

Came on the outside, like a shot, 

And then joined issue with the pair. 

Here Murphy called on Lord o' Clare, 

And, putting forth his giant strength, 

The black colt won by half a length. 

Sir Launcelot, fleet as the wind, 

Left Ben Bolt half a head behind. 

Bess Burroughs waved her 'kerchief white, 

Her dusky eyes with love alight — 

And wore a diamond ring that night. 



Within a rose-embowered cot. 
Half hid by trees, on a corner lot, 



28 Talcs of tJic Turf. 

A level turnpike road beside, 

Bob Jackson and his bonny bride 

Are living- now; while on the gate, 

In summer, when the day grows late, 

A lauo-hino-, brio-ht-eved urchin swinofs 

And prattles of the sport of kings 

To old Jack Burroughs, standing near; 

And from the cottage, low but clear, 

Comes floating on the summer air 

The song that once upon the stair 

Bess Burroughs hummed in days gone by. 

"Ah me, how quick the summers lly ! '' 
The old man, glancing o'er the place, 
Says, thinking of Bess' happy face; 

" I'm olad I scratched Rain-in-the-Face ! " 



HOW SMUGGLER BEAT THE MAID. 



A Tale of the Centennial Year. 



Draw back the curtains, Father Time, and pin them fast with 
spears; 

Call out the flyers, dead and gone, of fifteen years ago — 
The heralds of a flying age, that even now appears, 

Swift climbing o'er the mountain peaks, white with their caps 
of snow. 
What though the sulky-wheels be stilled, a driver gone to sleep 
Beneath a little mound of sod, where tangled grasses creep ? 
So long- as in the breast of man an honest heart shall beat, 
And kings and queens of equine birth in battle royal meet, 
Will Mem'r\- journey backward to that golden summer's day 
That gave to one a kingly crown and took a crown away. 



How Smuggler Beat the Maid. 29 

Let's trot it o'er, — that greatest race the century has seen, — 
For never grander field has trod a trotting-traci<, I ween, 
Than took the track at Cleveland, where a king dethroned a 
queen. 

IT. 

The sun that ushered in the day looked down upon the corn, 
That raised a hundred thousand spears all flashing in the 
light, 
To greet a queen that jogged the track in pride at early morn, 

Then faced about to greet a king that strode the track at 
night; 

P^or from the far-off Kansas plains, where rippling grasses grow, 
And ox-eyed daisies star the sod like flakes of living snow. 
Had come a slashing big bay horse, with flashing hazel eyes 
That held imprisoned 'neath their lids the light of sunset skies; 
And boldly thrown a gauntlet down and dared a queen to meet, 
While fawning courtiers knelt around, astonished, at her feet. 
But Doble picked the gauntlet up and swore a lance he'd break 
With Charley Marvin then and there, just for his lady's sake. 
Then Dan Mace said he'd take a hand, and so did Charley 

Green, 
While Johnston, armed all cap-a-pie, appeared upon the scene. 
Ah! one there is, gone fast asleep — God keep his mem'ry green. 

III. 

Beneath the grand stand met that day the men from ev'ry State; 
From North and South, from East and West the trotting cohorts 
came. 
They argued things from every point and figured out the slate; 
Then, looking o'er the records, said, " She'll get there just the 
same ! 
For Goldsmith Maid, the trotting queen, was then just in her 

prime; 
Her record, " Two-fourteen," still stood unchallenged by old Time. 



30 y\r/i's of tJic Th)/. 

She skipped alonor with airy o-race and ruled a queen by riq-hts 
Of conquests made on many tracks o'er ladies fair and knights. 
"And who," they asked, " is this who comes from out * the wooly 

West,' 
To beard the tigress in her den, the eagle in her nest ? " 
" 'Tis Smuggler. " Marvin answered back, "and we shall wrest 

the crown 
From Doble's little trotting queen before the sun goes down." 
Then Mace he swore a mighty oath that Goldsmith Maid should 

win, 
And Green with Lucille Golddust vowed he'd help Budd Doble in, 
While Peter Johnston winked his eye and wicked looked as sin. 

IV. 

The ladies in their tleecy robes gave back Dame Nature's smiles. 

Their bright eyes gleamed more brightly than the jewels that 
they wore. 
Fond cavaliers above them bent, lured by their graceful wiles; 

While music of the laughing waves came faint from Erie's shore. 
A thousand dainty fans oi lace were llutt'ring in the air, 
As though a swarm of buttertlies had come to hover there; 
A thousand daint}' handkerchiefs tossed on the south wind's 

breast — 
' Twas like a cloud of snowflakes blown across a flower}- heath. 
Eyes spoke to eyes that spoke again, and laughter low and sweet 
Went rippling o'er the crowded stand — a zephyr in the wheat. 
Bon-bons were wagered everywhere, and gloves a thousand score 
AW^uld fmd new owners ere the night came down upon the shore. 
A statue grand upon the stand stood Smuggler's owner there; 
A statuette was Doble's wife, upon her lijis a prayer. 
Around the pool-stands surged the crowd in rough but noisy glee, 
While wagers flew about like hail and words were bandied free. 
'Twas Goldsmith Maid against the field, at any odds, you see. 



Hcnu Smuggler Beat the Maid. -^t^ 



Loud clangs the bell that calls them out, and, 'midst a storm of 

cheers, 
Budd Doble jogs the trotting queen up slowly by the stand; 
Judge Fullerton, prince of the realm, with Dan Mace next 

appears — 
The Wizard of the Sulky bowing low on every hand; 
Now Lucille Golddust comes along, her driver Charley Green, 
And P. V. Johnston follows fast, he piloting Bodine. 
The storm of cheers, that died away like thunder in the sky, 
Bursts out again as Marvin jogs the mighty Smuggler by. 
Pretender though the horse may be, pretender to a throne, 
Where Goldsmith Maid has reigned a queen for many years 

alone, 
He hath a royal bearing, and his flashing hazel eyes 
Reflect the lightning's glint that plays along the western skies. 
They wheel beyond the judges' stand; they're marshaled for the 

fray. 

Each man's a master of the craft that holds the reins to-day. 

Let drums be stilled and bugles mute, while heralds clear the 

way ! 

i 

VI. 

Two false attempts, then down they come, but Smuggler lurks 
behind; 

The others level reach the wire, and " Go," the starter cries; 
They sweep around the lower turn as swiftly as the wind; 

Each stride they take is measured by ten thousand pairs of 
eyes. 
Judge Fullerton has left his feet ! The Maid is out in front; 
Determined as was Joan of Arc, she bears the battle's brunt ! 
Bodine is in the second place ! With muscles made of steel. 
The mighty Smuggler strides along — he's atthe gelding's wheel. 
Resistless as the torrent's rush in mountainous ravine. 
He sweeps into the second place, a heaven-made machine. 



34 'fa/is of the Tin/. 

'V\\c lUMsy crowd is luislunl aiul still. lie's oainiiiL;- on the INhiid. 
And now tho\- swin^' into the stretch. " Come o\\ ! Come on, you 

j;ule ! •' " 

The stallion takers. What was that.'* A shoe that's cast in air: 
The answer to a muttered wish, a woman's whisi)ered prayiM'. 
\\c comes a c\clone through the stretch, Inirn on a Kansas plain. 
Slu> heats him liome by half a len^-th. The courtiers smile ai^ain. 
That rush electric tired the hlotul like lisii-htning-'s tongaies of llame. 

VII. 

With (.me lalse start, tlu^v're ofT ai^'ain. Like arrow tVom a how 
'V\\c irolliuL:- ijueen shoots to the tVonl. and Smu!:;L;'ler leaves 
his feet. 
Her sulky like a storm-tossinl hark is rockino- to and tVo; 

She's shod like Mercury of old - 'twas wini^s that made him tleet. 
'I'he stallion's settled down at last — great Scott ! a distance out. 
With onl)- dust that's backward blown to sliow to him the route. 
1 K> hears the noise of iron-shod hcnifs that echo from the track, 
Tlu> hummiui;- oi {\\c llyin*^- wheels, the noisy whips that crack, 
\\c borrows swift Tej^asus' \vin_i4s, — the\-'re lent him from the 

skiers, - 
And, like a blooddiound on the trail, around the circle tlies, 
riie Maid, a victor, reached the wire. Down drops a blood- 
red raj:;-. 
Thank Cod t'or that wild burst o'i speed that beat the distance tla;.;-, 
h'or SmuLi'Lller's just Icmi lenolhs awa\-, his breast bedecked 

with t'oam; 
lie looks a i^iant cast in bron/e, and left tc^ trot alone, 
1"\m- Lucille Ciolddust and the rest, alkali ha\e beat him home. 

Vlll. 

With two heats to her credit now, the Maid is sure to win; 

\"ou'd bet a brownslone trout she would ai^ainst a peanut-stand. 
Thri>u^h oxerconfidence in l^\e was Adam made to sin. 

And Prox idence has ot"t o'erturned the best schemers t^\-er 
pknined. 



JIoio Sfnugglc7' Jical the Maid. 3^ 

A^rain the Maid shoots lo llic front and spcc-ds around the turn. 
Her hoofs, that twinkle throu^di the dust, you scarcely can discc'rn. 
Judge I'ullerton is two lengths back, with Lucille at his wheel; 
The Kansas stallion coming next, while r>odine foots the reel' 
Lucille has taken second place; before the half is passed, 
Whihi 'way on the extreme outside crnnc^s Smuggler, tn^ttinf^r fast. 
He leaves Judge Fullerton behind ! he bids Lucille good-by ! 
He scarcely s(;ems to touch the (^arth, but rather seems to fly. 
He comes a demon in the stretch; he's at the leader's girth. 
The queen's attendants silent are. 'Hiey've lost their' looks of 
mirth. 

Tis vain that Doble plies the whi]> and lifts the mare along; 
That cyclone from the Kansas plains is coming mighty strong. 
^'God save the queen, " the courti(.Ts cry, but all'in vain tl?e 
j)rayer — 

I le beats her by a head and neck, while hats are tossed in air. 
Pretender, eh .V and to a throne? Ah, Doble, have a care ! 

;x. 
They're off again at second trial, with Smuggler two lengths back. 
The queen goes sailing off in front, Lucille at Smuggler's 
girth, 
While Full(;rton is lappf:d outside, and JJoble, looking back, 

Has reason good to tliink h(; holds a mortgage on the earth, 
For never y(,'t in patent trap was rat morc^ surely caught 
Than was the stallion pocketed — so everybody thought. 
Three of the greatest drivers that the trotting-track has seen. 

Three of the fastest horses — aye, and one of them a queen 

Have formed a combination that shall make her throne secure. 
"They've got him fast! " the watchers cry; "the Maid will win 
it sure ! " 

They hold him till the stretch is reached — they'll never let him 
through. 

Great Scott! what's Marvin thinking of.? Good Lord' what can 
he do ? 



36 Talcs of tfic T^irf. 

He sudden takes the stallion back, then bring-s him on outside. 
The same cyclonic rush again, the same resistless stride. 
Green sees the white face rushing by and quickly turns about, 
Then loudly shouts above the din, " Look out there, Budd; he's 

out!" 
And Doble, rattled, seeks the whip and lays it on the mare; 
He fairly drives her off her feet and up into the air. 
True as a bullet to its mark the stallion rushes by. 
Ao-ain he beats her by a neck, while hats are tossed on high. 
And cheers like rockets rise from earth and break against the 

sky. 

X. 

The courtiers wear a troubled look; there's danger in the air; 

The throne is trembling at its base; a rival's drawing nigh. 
"God save the queen ! " again they shout, — 'tis like a frenzied 

prayer, — 
And hope that Night her starry scarf will fling across the sky. 
Six times they score, and then they're off. Good Lord, another 

game ! 
'Tis Fullerton that shows the way; 'tis Mace's fertile brain 
That's planned the scheme by which they hope to bolster up the 

throne 
On which the queen has sat for years and ruled her hosts alone. 
The Maid is trailing in the rear; she hangs on Smuggler's wheel. 
You catch the flash of silvered rims while sulkies rock and reel. 
The trick is old as are the hills; naught 's new beneath the sun; 
For every jock has played the game — they call it "two pluck one." 
The leader's flying like the wind — he's struck a storm-cloud's 

gait; 
He's carried Smuggler to the half; the watches mark "one-eight! " 
His mission's finished on the turn, and now the Maid goes out 
To catch the steed they hope to tire by forcing him the route. 
'Tis all in vain. The stallion comes along in conscious pride; 
There is no soft part in his heart, no falt'ring in his stride. 



Ike Murphy s Ride. 7,y 

" The queen is dead. Long- live the king! " Get ready now to 

cheer; 
Let drums be beaten, bugles blown, to greet the victor here ! 
Resistless as the whirlwind's rush where summer winds have 

played, 
He finishes the race alone, just as the sunbeams fade 
Into the night; and that is how bold Smuggler beat the Maid. 

Let fall the curtains, Father Time; call all the phantoms back 
You brought from out the misty past to trot a race to-day. 
Their ghostly hoofs no echoes wake when pounding on the track; 
The driver's lips that Death has sealed can neither scoff nor pray. 
The king that won, the queen that lost, both, both have passed 

away, 
Dan Mace has driven out of life. Above his dust to-night 
The snow lies like a fleecy scarf and hides the mound from sight. 
The frost is thick in Marvin's hair, while Doble looks alone 
Of that quintette as young as when the queen was overthrown. 
Though fifteen times the flowers have bloomed and fifteen times 

the snow 
Has fallen to the breast of earth and drifted to and fro. 
Since Smuggler won a kingly crown, the mem'ry of that scene 
Will live as long as roses blush, as long as grass grows green. 
Now Marvin brings, from Golden Gates, Sunol, the new-crowned 

queen. 



IKE MURPHY'S RIDE. 

(Monmouth Park.) 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 
Of Murphy's ride, and I'll make it clear: 
On the tenth day of August, in eighty-five - 
Many a man is now alive 
Who remembers that famous day and year 



38 lyrics of the Turf. 

He said to his boss: "If McLaughlin rides. 

As I think he will, in this great race, 
My spurs I'll not touch to the gelding's sides. 

But I'll let him go out and make the pace; 
He may make it fast or make it slow, 
But I'll lay behind and I'll lay quite low, 
Ready to ride when the finish comes, 
Though the wind may whistle and blow grreat guns. 
While the Dwyers curse and the bay horse runs." 

Then he said, " I'll win!" and he crossed the track, 

Never once stopping or looking back. 

Just as the sun from behind a cloud 

Looked down at earth and the howling crowd 

Of bookmakers that stood at bay, 

And wondered which it was best to play, 

As their fickle memories magnified 

The races they'd seen McLaughlin ride. 

Meanwhile his boss through the howling crowd 
Wonders and listens with eager ears. 
Till in the sunlight around him he hears: 
" I'll lay on Miss Woodford five to four," 

The roar of voices that shouted it loud, 

And the low, sweet voice of the " pencileers " 

As they booked his bets and cried for more. 

Then he climbed to the top of the big grand stand 

By the wooden stairs, with a heavy tread. 

To the private boxes overhead. 

And startled the ladies from their seats 

On the painted benches that round him lay. 

Brown with dust in the yellow day. 

By a winding staircase, somewhat tall. 

To the highest place there was of all. 



Ike Mtirpliy s Ride. 39> 

Where he stopped to listen and look down 
A moment on the _o-irls from the town, 
And the sunlii^ht irjcaniinof over all. 

Meanwhile, impatient to start and ride, 
With jacket of green and cap beside, 

On the opposite side Ike Murphy stood. 
Now he patted bold Freeland's neck, 

Now look(;d away to the distant wood, 
While the noble racer stamped the earth, 
Then turned to bite at his saddle-girth; 
But mostly he watched with eager eyes 
The rival jock and the starter's flag 
That hung o'er the white fence standing near, 

Like a blood-red rag in the sunlight clear. 

l)Ut, lo ! as he looks on the grass, it falls, 

A glimmer and then a gleam of red; 

Then he tightens the bridle and turns around, 

And smiles, with a nod, as he softly calls 

To his noble horse that spurns the ground. 

A hurry of hoofs in a wild, mad dash — 

Two steeds in the sunlight, two shapes in the day, 

And beneath them the pebbles struck out from the clay 

By two thoroughbreds flying and under the lash. 

That was all, and yet through the dust, you may say, 

The fate of an owner was riding that day. 

That night there was many a ticket to pay, 

When the tale was told by the lightning's flash. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read 
How McLaughlin kept the brown mare ahead, 
Till bVeeland camt; with a sudden dart 
At the finish, and Isaac jjroved too smart 



40 Talcs of the Turf. 

For the Dwycrs' jock; how at the last 
He nailed him just as the post was passed. 
Oh, I tell you it was a close-run race, 
And it gave to Murphy the pride of place. 



WHEN HUNTRESS WON THE STAKE. 

(Wasiuncton Park, Chicago, 1SS9.) 



It was an ideal racing-day: the sun was swinging high, 

A dazzling golden globe of light beneath an azure sky; 

The roses, blushing red and white, were clini])ing o'er the wall. 

While robins in the leafy wood were sending back the call 

Of meadow larks that upward sprang from out the tangled 

grass. 
To whisper to the ileecy clouds that swiftly'd come and pass. 
It was a peaceful summer scene, but echoes soon would wake 
The drowsy cattle from their sleep if Huntress won the stake. 

II. 

The grand stand held a brilliant crowd. In fashion's bright array 
The ladies had turned out in force to see the race that day. 
The club-house steps, with members thronged all through those 

golden hours. 
Seemed some pagoda fringed with black and bursting out with 

flowers. 
The hum of myriad voices seemed to echo through the stand — 
'Twas like the moaning of the sea that's heard upon the sand. 
Though now and then some eager voice the humming sound 

would break; 
The while it asked, "Will old ]\Iontrose or Huntress win the 

stake?" 



When Huntress Won the Stake. 



4.1 



III. 

The betting- ring- was thronged with men — the smooth asphal- 

tum floor 
Gave back in echoes loud and long the ring's deep, sullen roar. 
About the bookies' box-like stands the crowd surged like a sea; 
'Twas " six to five " and take your pick — no choice there seemed 

to be; 
And ten to one 'gainst Robin Hood, but no one but a flat 
Who didn't know a horse from mule would nibble e'en at that. 




" ' You've gol him, Jim ! ' ' 7'//i' ma)e ivill toiii /' " 



A duel to the death 'twould be, and many hearts would ache 
Unless the gallant Hankins' mare should carry off the stake. 



IV. 



A bugle sounding loud and clq^r was echoed by a shout, 
While through the open paddock gate McLaughlin, riding out 
Upon the famous chestnut mare, was greeted with such cheers 
(\ seem to hear their echoes now come floating down the years) 



42 Talcs of the Turf. 

As greeted him but once before upon a Western track, 
When, winner of the great EcHpse, he rode Miss Woodford back 
To weigh in at St. Louis. Ah, many a man he'd break 
If Huntress, Springbok's daughter, failed that day to win the 
stake. 

V. 

Then old Montrose, with Lewis up, swept by with steady stride,. 
With arching neck, with flashing eyes and nostrils opened wide. 
Again the cheers swept o'er the track and hats were tossed in air,. 
For never Western course had seen a grander-looking pair. 
Robin Hood passed all unnoticed, with Winchell on his back — 
What chance had he in such a race, when run on such a track ? 
They stand together at the post; a pretty scene they make; 
The flag falls — now will old Montrose or Huntress win the: 
stake ? 

VI. 

The purple with canary sash goes dashing by the stand; 
He's leading Huntress by a length; McLaughlin has in hand 
The chestnut mare that carries well the black with oranee sash.. 
While Robin Hood, already last, don't figure in the dash. 
Around the lower turn they sweep beneath the blazing sun; 
And still the Labold colors lead — the race is now half run. 
" Montrose will win ! " the shouts go up; and all the echoes wake; 
" Five thousand to three thousand now that Huntress wins the 
stake ! " 

VII. 

Bold Robin Hood was done for ere they reached the upper turn. 

It took a royal field glass then the leader to discern; 

lUit those who watched them closely saw by the sunlight's flash 

That gaining, surely gaining, was the black with orange sash. 

A furlong out Montrose still led; there fell an awful hush 

Upon the multitude. It seemed as though one felt the rush 

Of storm-clouds through the sultry air, that would in thunder 

break, 
If Huntress in that dash for cash should carry off the stake. 



Dandy Jiijis Dream. 43 

VIII. 

A sixteenth more, the race was o'er — one-sixteenth of a mile; 
'Twas scarce the beatings of a heart, the flittino- of a smile; 
'Twas scarce the tickingr of a clock, a pendulum that swung, 
The rattling- of those flying hoofs that echoes wake among 
The shadows underneath the stand. "Come on there, old 

Montrose ! " 
"You've got him, Jim!" " The mare will win!" The tumult 

louder grows. 
The race is run, the mare has won, and cheers the echoes wake. 
For Huntress, Hankins' chestnut mare, has carried off the stake. 

Above the winner of that race the grass is growing green, 

For Death with icy fingers stopped and touched the Western 

queen. 
Let's hope that in another world, if other world there be, 
She roams among the clover from the touch of halter free; 
That, when some time in after years this racing tale is told. 
And, standing by life's sundown bars, we dream of days of old, 
'Twill stir again our sluggish blood, and bid fond memories wake. 
To look back to that summer day when Huntress won the stake. 

DANDY JIM'S DREAM; 

Or, How the Brown Colt Won the Derby. 

In a little, low, thatched stable, in the Crescent City, lay 

" Dandy Jim," a light-weight jockey, fast asleep upon the hay. 

While the rain-drops, softly falling on the roof, sang merry 

rhymes; 
And the night wind on its bosom brought the sound of 

Christmas chimes. 

O'er his couch Death's . angel hovered, with his dark and 

outstretched wing, 
Like a messenger awaiting the dread summons from his kino-; 



44 7\j/cs of the 'Jurf. 

But the jockey's careworn features wore a sunny, peaceful smile — 
lim was dreamiuij' of the horses, and his old home bv the stile. 



All the old life passed before him as he lay there, fast asleep; 
Childish prayers he softly murmured, praying God his soul to 

keep; 
While the gray-haired, wrinkled trainer, in whose eyes the tears 

would come. 
Muttered softly, "Jim is dying! Angels bring him dreams of 

home." 

Slow from Time's hands dropped the minutes, as the long night 

drifted by; 
Then there came a touch of crimson in the far-off eastern sk}-. 
And the dying jockey, waking, called the trainer to his bed. 
"I've been dreaming, John." he whispered; "listen what my 

dreamings said: 

" I thought that I lay awake in the grass. 

In the sunshine warm and bright. 
Where the birds and the shadows come and pass. 

And the cat-birds call at night; 
And the big brown colt in the stable there 

Was roaming about at will. 
There wasn't a sound in the summer air, 

Save the busv water-mill — 

" Save the noise of the brook that laughed and sang 

'Midst the rushes cool and green. 
And a robin's song in the wood that rang — 

Oh ! 'twas a peaceful scene. 
1 could see the old farm-house, where it stood 

just under a maple tree; 
1 could catch a glimpse of the distant wood. 

The sheen of the far-off sea. 



Dandy Jini s Dream. 47 

■" I could see the apple trees, white with bloom, 

That stood by the em'rald lane, 
And the roses nodding- to welcome June, 

The touch of her hands again. 
My mother I heard, as she softly sang- 

The ballad I used to know, 
Of the flower that up from the ashes sprang 

With its petals white as snow. 

'"Then I thought, somehow, that I fell asleep; 

I dreamed of the old race-track. 
With the grass in the paddock ankle- deep. 

And the stables over back; 
And I heard the sound of the noisy crowd 

One hears on a Derby Day; 
And the bookies' shouts as they cried aloud 

The odds that they wished to lay. 

^" And I saw the brown colt galloping- by: 

He went to the starting-post 
With a nervous fire in his flashing eye; 

In the saddle rode a ghost. 
The jockey men saw was a stranger there, 

Hut the ghost that rode was me, 
With the grave-yard dust in my tangled hair; 

And the colt moved strong and free. 

"Then I saw the starter's flag go down. 

And 'They're off,' I heard them cry, 
A black was ahead of your slashing brown. 

And a chestnut colt close by. 
At the end of a mile a gray colt led; 

The black at his withers lay; 
While at his saddle-girths the chestnut sped; 

The brown was a length away. 



48 Ta/cs of the Turf. 

"Then a cry went up from the bcttino--stand„ 

' Sec ! the bio^ ^X7\.y colt is clone ! ' 
*Ha! the chestnut wins; he is well in hand. 

Great Cunl ! Sec^ the brown colt come ! ' 
Then the brown and the chestnut, side by side, 

Drew out from the black and i^ray; 
For a moment they raced on stride for stride, 

Then tlu> brown colt drew away. 

" Comino^ on like an arrow, stronpr and true, 
We won by a lenoth or more; 
He had carried away the ribbon of blue, 

Ani-l I heard the ^reat crcnvtl roar. 
But the jock men saw was a stranger there, 

While the ohost that rode was me. 
Then I shook the dust from my tanolcd hair, 
But never a man could see. 

" 1 want you to make nu^ a promise, John, 

That )ou'll start that colt for me 
In the Derby, and I — I'll ride him, John, 

Thoug-h my ohost you may not see." 
This the trainer promised, then turned away 

As lim's li|)s movinl in prayer. 
And his spirit fled in the dawnino- i^ray. 

And left but a casket there. 

In a little, low, thatched stable, in the Crescent City, lay 
Dandy |im, the lio-ht-weioht jockey, dead upon his couch of ha) . 
Death the oift the Christ-child brought him. as W chanoed the 

cross to crown, 
When he called the lad. o-rown wear) bade him lay his burdens. 

down. 



Dandy Jims Dream. 4c;, 

Slowly drifted by the winter, and the; sprin,ir came on apace. 
One hy one the books were opened on the great blue-ribbon 



race. 



'Gainst the chestnut, " ten to seven" was the odds, and lower down 
On the; list, and marked at forties, was John's slashing- colt, the 
brown. 

Looked he every inch a race-horse, but, when movin.o- in his 

work, 
He would somehow try to bolt it, and he acted like a shirk. 
Still John piled the money on him, and once to a friend he said: 
"My brown colt will win the Derby! 'Tis a promise from the 

dead." 

Derby Day at last arriving-, he was oralloped by the stand, 
With a stranger in the saddle; but he answered each command, 

Like he felt some hidden pressure on the slender bridle-rein 

Felt the light touch of a master; yet he knew not whence it came. 

Fell the flag, as Jim had dreamed it, with the black colt in advance; 
Then the brown, and then the chestnut closely followed in the 

dance. 
At the mile a gray was leading, while the black beside him lay; 
At his saddle-girths the chestnut, and the brown a length away! 

" 'Tis Jim's dream," the trainer muttered, as they straightened 

out for home. 
" Now the chestnut colt is leading. Great God! see the brown 

colt come! 
Drawing level with the chestnut, puts he forth his giant strength; 
Has him done for at the distance; wins by just an open len^nh." 

By a little, low, thatched stable, on a famous racing-track, 
Stood the winner of the Derby, with a great crowd at his back. 
While the trainer told the story of his dying jockey's dream: 
" 'Twas his spirit, men, that rode him ; 'twas his ghost no man 
hath seen." 



j^o Talcs of the Ttn-f. 

AN OWNER'S OPINION. 

Eh? What do I think o' my hoss's chance? 

She hasn't the ghost o' a chance at all. 
Reckon when others are leadin' the dance 

You'll find her down at the foot o' the hall. 
She ain't bin out o' the stall fer a week, 

Ain't no account, and she never will be. 
So you've backed her, eh ? Well, you hear me speak; 

She never will be in the hunt. Now see ! 

A pretty good mare she was in the fall, 

Speedy an' game, an' could carry her weight; 
Galloped at Nashville away from 'em all — 

Beat some o' the best they had in the State; 
But she got lung fever an' nearly died; 

She's a little thick, right now, in her wind; 
She's sulky, too, an', whenever she's tried. 

Seems ter delight in bein' behind. 

What was there agin her ? Twenty to one ? 

There ought to be fifty, upon my word. 
Why, after the manner in which she's run, 

The lay in' o' short odds like that *s absurd. 
That 's her, sir, gallopin' now up the track. 

Eh ? Looks pretty well, did I hear you say ? 
That fellow o'er yonder, sir, is the crack, 

An' he is the colt that should win to-day. 

Eh ? What will I take for the old brown mare ? 

Wall, she ain't for sale, I'm sorry to say. 
As she may round to with the proper care 

An' win me a thunderin' stake some day. 
No, she isn't handsome, that I'll allow; 

Neither am I, so we make a good pair. 
But I haven't quite lost faith yet, I vow. 

In the racin' powers o' my old brown mare. 



An Owner s Opinion. 

No, she hasn't a chance on earth to-day 

To win, or even to run to a place, 
An' you're migrhty fooHsh, I think, to play 

A hoss like her in this sort of a race. 
I jest put ten on that chcs'nut o' Brown's — 

He thinks mighty well o' his colt, I know, 
An' I'd wager more only Fortune's frowns 

Have made my pile most mightily low. 

I'm sorry, sir, that you're backin the mare; 

You should have seen inc when you first came out. 
I'll tell you the truth, an' you know I'm square: 

She isn't quite up to so long a route. 
In a couple o' weeks or so, I think, 

Perhaps she'll be fit fer a bruisin' race. 
Now, sir, after the chestnut wins, we'll drink, 

Fer ye know I'm backin' him straight an' place. 

Thar, darn it, they're off, an' my crimson sash 

Is away in the lead as sure as fate; 
Looks like she'd gallop away wi' the cash. 

Come on thar, my honey ! Come on, my Kate ! 
She wins in a gallop as sure's you're born ! 

I hadn't a cent on her, as you see. 
Why, she couldn't gallop a bit this morn, 

An' now she's won it, an' done fooled me. 



51 




52 y\i/is of the Turf. 

WVX'XW SlMlMvlNS' MARl'. 

lliiKhM! K\cvy in tlu> Sirrr.is, t'lr hc-low ihr praks ol snow. 
i,.i\- iho lilllc ramp of ll.ilry's in thr suninuM-s Ion;;- ai^o. 
And \\\c \-\\c\- thai ran sinj^ini;- likv> a siriMi thrcniLi'h ihc lands 
lloKl a wealth ot' s^ohlcn treasures deeply hidilen in its sands. 

Ciold was o'od <^\ all thi^ niiniM's. luii iheir L;oddess was a L;irl. 
Golden-haired and lair ol" feature, whom the)'d christened 

" little rearl" — 
Paui^hter slu" of l\n-mer Simpkins, invner ol a plot i^l i^romul 
l.vnver down within tlu>\alle\-. which he tilled the year around. 

Suitors l>ettie had a pKMit\-, lor the ;^irl was wondrous lair, 
Hut the onlv ihiuL;- that won Ium- wms .i little i-heslnut mare. 
And all day amon>^" tlu^ mountains she was riding; to and li'o 
'Moni;st the pines that stood and w hispered there below the peaks 
ol snow. 

SummiM-s came and summers vanished, m\A the \ ilkii^i^ i;rew 

apace. 
And as older i^rew the \illaj.^-e o-rtwv the !;irl in woman's orace. 
Colder, too. in strenj^th and hcaul)- ^rew the little chestnut m.ne 
That was oiven o'er to Hettie and became^ the maiden's c.ire. 

Year bv vear tl\c crops otow sliortor; but the okl man heinled not. 
1'ill Necessity's stern mandate put a morti^a^-e on the lot. 
TluMi there eiUered C\ire and Trouble at the little cotlai^e door — 
l"'nlered, liH\ the L;hosi ol'b'amint^ took its pkice upon tlu> tloor. 

NauL;ht kiuwv InMlie of the trouble, until months had rolK\l .\way. 
When the tarmer, worn m\<\ wearw told Ium- ol their shortened 

stay 
In the oottai^e; lor the int'rest on tlu> mortLi.ii^e was unp.iid. 
And the sherilV onb" waited lor the word to make his r.iid. 

Bcttie v>\\\\ smiled in .mswiM-, while the ti\irs bediiuiuinl Ium' eyt^s. 
Hent ai\d kissed the old man liL;htl\-. liki> a woman w ^Mldly wis^-. 



/li///(' Si ui/>/,-i ii\ A/d/ 



53 



" ( i()(| will ll(||)," she sod ly vvlli'.pcrcfl; " lie vvill licfd ;i ( |;i ii" 1 il cf's 

|)i";iycr." 
Tlu-ii Willi, oiil .ind lold licr lro(il>l<- Id iIm' liiijc ( Ii< ■.iimi in.irc. 



I'.'ir aw.iy in ()ii.iii)l Soiioi;! llicr<- w;i'. ImM ;i ( oiiiily l;iir, 
And, l(» w.v./iv on I Ik- i.k in;^', ;^;iLlicr<-d ;ill |li<- nnn* f. iIktc; 
l>nl llic ;m''.'iI ;ind ( lii<l ;il lr;icl ion w;i'. ;i I li(Hr.;ind dolhr vacc, 
Jtcc. lor ;ill, L(j rule ;u)<l li;ii nc:,:., ;ind 'Lw;i', Llii:, Llial. Iilh-d llic 
pl.icc. 

Tlu'.c llic f-ntrics that wnrn privnn oul in lown llic ni'dil hcfon-: 
I' ii'.l llic '>lal lion l<ni!.dit of ( "rjsia,; tli<n a ;'<|(|iii;. ( ,dl( (jl Ik- Moor; 
Tlwn ill'- marc ( juccn ol Sonor;i, and a j'cldin;' ( ;illcd '| ;il:c ( "arc; 
I lien ;i lior.c no owf had hcaid ol, ciiLcicd iJcLtit; Sinipl.in/ iii.iic. 

When llic r;icc w;r. < ;ilh:d iicxl inoinin" .ind llicic r.-ui" llic 

jud;M',' hell, 
( anic ilici'c Oil! lonr in'i/zlcd driver'., howin;; lo llic mincf,' ycjl; 
I lien a hoyiJi |c||ow hdlowcd willi a, )o<:l:cy cap drawn down 
<)'(:)■ ;i, lair and "irliJi lo)"(:h(:ad he ;i '.l.ian'")' in ihe lown. 

IJU.Ic l.in)c. wa;; lo'.l in ',( orini;, ;ind I he jiidf'C'. y;i\ft: \\\c word, 
With the Kni^dit o(^ o'.la lc;i.f|iii;'_ ;iiid ;i Irollin;^ h"ke a lard. 
Oiiickly sped he down the, hach.Lj'cLch, lollowe(| (.lo',e,|y \,y Take, 

Care, 
While, like (li:ath, iipo'i hi', 'piarter liiin;^ ihe little r he-.tnut mare.. 



In the ".li'eif.h they ■.winii; l.ovei.lje.r. I\niidit ol ( a^sta '.oon wa'. 

I)eat; 
'I'hen the. mare, m.ide pl.'iy for 'I'akc Care, . ind the !M:ldin;'; hft hi-; 

feet, 
While '.he, rfjmin;.' '.trf)ii;4 and :,teady, pa^ijcd beneath tlie ju(l;^cs' 

stand, '"'' 

Winner (jf the heat in ihirty, and '.till Irollin" well In h.-mrl. 



54 



Talcs of the Turf. 



'Flu; next heat the mare won eas)-, jo^oin^- in ahnost alone, 
With the; Knioht of Costa distanced and his backers' money flown, 
W'liih' the miners cursed and sliouteth some in sorrow, some in joy. 
And the battled ora\'-haired ch'ivers swore; at fortune and the boy. 




" Avd sht sail/, ' /'/;/ Pe/ti<- St ////>/.•/ ns.' " 

When they went away the third time 'twas the Queen that showed 

the way, 
With the Moor ri^ht at her throat-latch and the mare a length away ; 
And the watchers marked no changes till they squared away for 

home. 
Then a shout came from the miners: " See the little chestnut 

come ! " 



/n'tiic Siiiipkiiis Mare. 55 

TroUino- lik(; a locomotive, soon she left hchind tlic Moor, 

And drew level at the distance with the Oueen. " She'll win it, 

sure ! " 
Yelled the miners; then they shouted, for the Oueen had left her 

feet, 
And the handsomer little chestnut joi(,L,''ed in winner of the heat. 

I)Ut the cheers jrave place to silence, for about tlu; judL,a;s' stand 
Soon there _^-athered all tlu" drivers, each a whip held in his hand, 
And the spokesman of the party, he the driver of the (Jueen, 
Claimed the chestnut mare had fouled him, as his partners all had 
seen. 

iMrst the judg-es heard in silence what the veterans had to say; 
Then they asked the boyish driver to explain the tale away. 
As he raisc'd his cap to answ(.'r, down there f(;ll a v/oman's hair, 
And she said, " I'm i>ettie Simpkins, and this liettie Simpkins' 

mare." 
Oazed the judiji'es down in wonder at the maiden's flashinL,'- eyes, 
While the other drivers, shamefaced, turned away in their 

surjjrise. 
Then there canie the quick announcement from the judg^es' 

watching- pi ace: 
" We give to Bettie Simpkins' mare the third heat and the race." 

There arrived a few days afterward at I'^armer Simpkins' place 
The sheriff and his posse, and they found Miss I>etti(' there. 

"Here's the m(;ney for your mortgage, sir; I won it on a race," 
She said, "down at vSonora, where I drove my chestnut mare." 

The old man looked down in wonder, and then, kneeling on the 
floor, 
He cried, "O God, I thank thee, and if racing'- be a sin, 
I will promise thee my I>ettie, Lord, shall nev(;r do it more. 
Thou knowest she was honest, and she drove the mare to 
Win. 



56 Tales of the Turf. 

Soon a stranger came from 'Frisco who had heard about the 
race, 
Was introduced to Bettie, and he tried to buy the mare — 
He offered a cool ten thousand; she dechned the same with g-race, 
But still he kind of lingered, with his heart caught in her hair. 
On sped the weeks with Hying feet and found him lingering 
there; 
And then there came a wedding up at Farmer Simpkins' place. 
The groom ? That chap from 'Frisco. So I got the chestnut 
mare, 
But, better yet, the maiden that had driven her the race. 



SHOWING THE THOROUGHBREDS. 

(Belle Meade, Octoher, 1887.) 

Belle Meade lay sleeping in the sun 

That golden autumn day. 
The live oaks wore their scarlet coats 

And breeches lichen-gray. 
The beech had changed its green attire 

For dress of brown and gold, 
And blue-grass pastures far away 

In emerald billows rolled. 

Beside the stables snowy white 

The Nation's chieftain stood; 
A woman, with her eyes alight, 

Looked on in happy mood; 
While Uncle Bob, a colored man, 

With hair of silver gray. 
Led out the o-allant thorouo-hbreds 

That make Belle Meade to-day. 



S/i07c>i7io- the T/ioroiioJibrcds. 



57 



" I) is yar boss, Mistah President, 

Am Bonnie Scotlan's son, 
Ole Hranible. 'Spec's youh lady, sail, 

Hab heerd how he could run. 
He carried Dwyah's red and blue, 

An', wid McLaus^hlin uj), 
He beat de bes' ones ob his day, 

When racin fo' de Cup. 




" T/i is yar /loss, Mistnlt Pre 
Am /y'oiuiic S(ot/i!/i^s son. 



aiden^ 



** Tak' kyeer dar, Mister President, 

Don' i^et too clus his h(;els; 
He don' mean nuffin' when he kicks, 

Jes' shows how crood he feels. 
Dat leetle brown colt ober dar 

Am one of Bramble's o-it; 
'Specs, if dey i^ibs him half de chance, 

He'll siah somc^ racers yit. 



58 Talcs of the Turf. 

" His chestnut hcah am luuiiiiah; 

lie's octtin' mighty old. 
I reckon dat his oet hab brought 

Dis fa'm his weight in o-old. 
rroin Cahtorny to de lias', 

Whereber dc)- may be, 
De boys all know ole Knquiah, 

De i)ride ob Tennessee. 

" Me 's daddy to de o-rcMt Miss IhxuI, 

Dat carried l^U'win's cross 
lip in ChicaL;-o, Derby Day, 

An' sulk, or couldn't los' 
Dat o-reat stake carried off by Todd. 

'Idu> miohty Eo-mon', too, 
Am oiu> (^{ dis ole fellah's sons. — 

lleah! Sloi). rah! Dat'U Ao. 

" You nc^edn't i^'o to tear my clo'es^ 

'Cause; )-ou's so miL^hlN' proud 
Ob standin' i'oah tie PresiiUMit 

An' dis imcommon crowd. 
De lad)' wants to pat )ouh nos(>; 

Dat's rioht; stoop down \o\\x head. 
Wdioa, tlar ! Stan' mio-hty (juiel now. 

An' show that you's well brcnl. 

" 1 k\di. sah, 's dc^ kin^- ob tie whole lot,- 

Tak' i>le l>ob's won.1 fo' dat, — 
Luke Hlackburn, jes' de i^ran'est boss 

Dat eber trod de ilat. 
Jes' look, sah, at dat satin coat 

A-shinin' in the sun; 
Look at tlem powahhil (pialuahs, sah. 

An' sa)' he couUln't run. 



Skozaiui^ the Thoroughbreds. 59 

"J(;s' l(;t youh missus stcq) (lis way 

All' pciL (lis l)(,'<'iuly's iKjsc. 
She likes a fin' boss mos' as well 

As my L(al (-l(j fine clcj'es. 
IJis boss am miL(hty youHLi;- as yit, 

Hut when Ik^'s had de chance 
I le'll hab scjuk.' s(mis and dauc^hlahs, sab, 

I )at 's houn' lo ](.'ad de dance. 

"I)is brown oik; berry lamoiis, sab — 

1 )e mio'bty InKjuois; 
lie won de English Derby, sab, 

Much to de [)eople's joy. 
I t'ink sometime he toss his head 

About as if he knew 
He mak' ole En^-lan' mighty sick 

Ob our red, white an' blue. 

" He looks ar(nin' him mighty i^eert 

An sassy all cU- while; 
He's t'inkin' 'bout de i^rinc(; of Wales — 

I)at mak's you'h lady smile. 
1 le don' know you 's de President, 

I specs he doesn't car'; 
He's berry English in his ways — 

Mus' larned em ober dar. 

"Dis am, de las' one ob de lot, 

Great Tom, de P2nglish boss, 
Impoahted by i\v. CJin'ral, sab, 

Who t'ought him j('s' de boss. 
He ain't no berry great shakes, sah, 

Leas'wise dat I can fin' — 
His sons and daughtahs, mos' ob dem„ 

Hab alius run behin'. 



Co '/\r/ts of the Titr f. 

" Par. sah. you schmi iK- niii^luy steeds 

1>.U iii.ik' In^lle Me;ulo lo-ila)-. 
An' w luMi \ ou ii\uls 111) raein' i.K\^ls. 

V\ nu'iniN Imns dis way. 
|es' kiu'K I'ink eh I'liele Heb. 

1 )e po' ole eelered man 
Vouli \ isil lo dis fa'ni liali made 

1 >i^ proudes' in de Ian'. " 



Till' r.\niHHdx r..\ri-. Axn wow it was ori:xi:D. 

HiinL: out mv raeiniul-iaekel. ln>h. and k\y it ow the hed; 

I'd hkr to put it en a-^ain. jnsl enee heU^re I die. 
Ah. m.ni\ . m.nu' limes, m\' kid, hx e \\o\-\\ ihal hhie and iwl; 

h'irst p.isi the post on Southern traeks. and 'nealh a Xorlhern 
sky. 

\"ou hcMrd. kid. wh.it the doelor s.iid ? Nay. there's no need o' 
tears - 

ril weii^h out at the judi^es' standi I reckon. W^^h, all rii^ht. 
I'\e nexer doni> a erooked aet in all m\" iorl\- \e.n"s. 

.\nd d\ inL; onl\ me.ms lo slee[>. tit bid the world L^ood-nii^ht. 



1 don't see lunv 1 fell to-day — I seemed to have it won. 

1 iu>\er knew the bii; blaek eolt to stmnble. kul. before; 
The laNorite that Martin rode 1 had ah\\ul\- done. 

.\nd 1 saw the chestnut laltei' when we passed the stable <\o<<>\-. 

The i^ray was .it m\ saddle-L^irths 1 knew I had him beat. 

For CunninL;luim was iirgins^" him e'en then with whip and 
steid. 
W hile I was sitting:;' eas\-dike and quiet in nn^ seat 

And hummin«j o'er the music o' the old \ irijinnx^ Reel. 





Kfc 



--J 



Tkc Paddock (tliIc, and /lozv it zuas Opened. 6 



o 



The track flew out Ix-hind me like a ribbon all unrolled; 

The hoofs niadc^ merry music as they echoed from the track; 
The grand stand in the sunlight seemed a gleaming mass o' 
' gold ; 

Then came a sense o' falling, and before; me all grew black. 

What happened then, I cannot tell ! It didn't hurt the black, 
The boys all say — and, lad, you know I'm mighty glad o' that. 

That colt is bound to make his mark some day upon the track. 
The boys will find him bad to beat when racing on the flat. 

Now move your chair up closer, lad. You know my little Kate ? 

Her mother died ten years ago, ten years this very day. 
Ah, me ! no man had ever yet a bett(;r running mate 

Than I until the angels came and carried her away. 

The girl is like her mother, lad: the same brown hair and eyes; 

The self-same dimples in her cheeks; a laugh like silver 
chim(;s; 
A heart as light as thistle-down that floats 'neath summer skies. 

Yet pure as is the virgin gold that comes from mountain mines. 

Take her the papers in my chest — I've left to her the farm; 

This ring upon my flnger here her mother used to wear — 
And promise me that, while you can, you'll shield her safe from 
harm, 

I trust you as no other, lad; so make the lass your care. 

Tell her, for she is rich, my lad, to use her riches well. 

For money makes not happiness, and riches oft take wings. 

'Tis better in a cottage where Love sits enthroned to dwell 
Than to sit down with Indifference in a palace made by kings. 

Why, Bob ! I'm growing strangely weak — nay, leave the colors 
there: 

I'm going to tak(i a little nap; I'll waken by and by. 
" If I should die before I wake" — why! that's an infant's jjrayer! 

Lift up the curtains, lad, a bit; I wish to see the sky. 



64 J\i/cs of the Jurf. 

Turn up the lioht a little, Hob; it's gretting- mighty dark. 

Was that the satidIino--bell that rang-? Come, hurry ! I'll be 
late. 
There's Saunderson ! 1 thought him dead. B)- Jo\e ! lu>'s on The 
Lark ! 
Give me a hand. All read)-, sir ! Swing- wide the paddock 
gate. 

The g-atc that opcMied no nian saw. The angel at the bars 
Stood sentry while a jockey rode out on the silent track 

That leads, so books and preachers say, to lands beyond the stars; 
But none who've ridden through that gate have ever yet come 
back. 



"SCOTTY." 

(Montana, 1X85.) 

Scotty? " Yes, stranger, that's my boss. 
} low's he bred? \\\>11, he's kind o' a cross 
'Tween Morgan stud an' a mustang mare. 
Looks like a Morgan ? Well, now, I swear, 
Somi^times I think so, and then ag'in 
I can't see whar the good blood comes in. 
I raised hi in up h'om a suckin' colt, 
An' buckin' is nigh on his best holt. 

Will 1 S(>11 him? No, sir, stranger, no; 
Thar ain't gold enough on earth below 
To buy that boss. Ye may think it strange. 
But I fancy that, when I cross the range, 
The Master '11 sa)-: " jini, )-ou tlid well 
To keep that boss, an' never to sell.''' 
And keep him 's what I intends to do. 
Long as thar 's forage enough for two. 



'\Scotty:' 

He ain't wuth much ? Not to you, pcrluips. 
That same remark has been made by chaps 
As don't know nothin' about that hoss. 
But better set down. Thar 's a story, boss, 
'Bout Scotty, an' as thar's nolxjdy l^y, 
I'll tell it — thank'ee, a little rye. 
I never takes no suy-ar in mine; 
Spoilin' Gfood licjuor ain't in my line. 



65 




" I siuldlni St-otly, (1)1,1 j list as d<iy 

Jirokc o'er I he //louiiluiiis, I rode awdyJ''' 

One winter, ni^^h on five years aij;"o, 

When the roads was blocked with driftin' snow, 

An' a blizzard swept the canyon here, 

Till the old oaks' branches shrieked wi* fear, 

The wife that I wed eii^ht years aq-o, 

Wi' h('r bronze brown hair an' h(;r neck o' snow, 

Were taken sick in the dead o' nii^ht, 

An' us alone — not a soul in si<rht. 



66 Talcs of the Turf. 

She grew wuss fast. When the mornin' come 
It looked Hke life's sands most had run. 
She whispered faint, "For God's sake. Jim, 
Get the doctor here from the town o' Lynn." 
I saddled Scotty, an' just as day 
Broke o'er the mountains, I rode away, 
An' as I went on I seemed to see 
Her small white hands as they reached for me. 

In just three hours, or a trifle more. 
Perhaps. 1 had reached the doctor's door 
An' told my mission. He shook his head — 

*' By the time I i^et there she '11 be dead; 
For that hoss of mine is old an' slow, 
An' he'll lose his way in the driftin' snow." 

''Take Scotty, doctor; give him his head. 
An' save my lassie," were all I said. 

I watched him ride through the drifts away. 
An' somehow, stranger, my lips would pray 
That God would give Scotty strength an' spee( 
To save my wife in the hour o' need. 
Then goin' out in the howlin' storm. 
I foun' my way to the doctor's barn. 
An' takin' his hoss, a spavined bay, 
I saddled him up and rode away. 

The night had covered the mountains o'er 
Wi' sable cloaks when I reached the door 
O' my cabin home, an' I could see 
In fancy my wife's hands reached to me; 
An' my heart stood still, all froze wi' dread, 
As I thought perhaps she mought be dead. 
I opened the door to find my wife — 
An' a baby gal had crept to life. 



/;/ Litck Both Ways. 6^ 

The Doc had g-otten thar sharp at nine; 

He said himself he were just in time. 

It mou,2;'ht have been 't was my whispered pra'r; 

I'll always think it were Scotty thar; 

An' though I knows it ain't etiquette 

For a man to make his hoss a pet, 

You can't have Scotty; no, not for gold. 

The reason why — he ain't to be sold. 



IN LUCK BOTH WAYS. 

I tell you a tale that was told to me 

In the early dawn by a stable door, 
While the moon that sank in the far-off sea 
Seemed to lift the dark from the sandy shore. 
It was told by a trainer old and gray — 
A Texas man — in a Texan's way. 

*T hed a hoss called Butterball 

Some thirty years ago, 
Seemed rather undersized an' small; 

He were a whirlwind though. 
I never seed a hoss like him 

Afore or since that day 
He galloped home a winner in 

The Autumn Cup. Then Clay 

"Allowed he were the grandest hoss 

Thet ever he hed seen; 
An' offered me ten thousan' cash 

An' his mare, Betsy Green, 
Ef I would sell him; but, you see, 

I wasn't sich a fool. 
What does fer others does fer me, 

Has allers bin my rule. 



68 7>/r.s- of the Tiof. 

" 'T were waN down South in New Orleans; 

Me an' ni)' hoss waz thar, 
A kind o' lookin' 'round iVr i^rccns, 

l>ut runnin' ow the scjuar". 
I \1 wi>n a |)osk\' })urse er two, 

Enouoh to buy liini oats, 
l^ut I 'd some bills a-coniin' due, 

An' w^asn't llush \vi' notes. 

" 1 'd luHM'd about the Autumn Cup, 

An' enttMwl Inilterball. 
I nu'ant v\ a ^^-ood lu^ss kim up 

Ter nevcM- start et all. 
1 'lowi^d ther lorleit I could i)ay 

VA eracker-jacks kim in, 
Then start a^-'in some other day 

When sure that I could win. 

"Two ckiN's atbrc^ the Cup wax run 

1 L;i\' \w\ hoss a tri'l. 
He fairly matle the watches hum 

A-workin' tlu't three utile. 
I sez, ' jerusha.' -she's my wile — 

V.x WAV. in them old da\s, 
'Inire a ili\-oree court crossed my life 

An' took her from my i^aze, — 

" I sez, ' l(.M"usha, sure e/, sin, 
I'll win wi' Initterbalk' 
'Now, Ttmi," sez she. \A you does \vin, 

I wants a hat this talk' 
TluMU waz \\v\- \er\- onl\' words, 

W'pt thet slie adiUxl o\\ 
Innit wantin' et all trimmed wi' birds 
liz had their feathers on. 



/;/ Luck I)i)t/i Ways. 69 

" Et last thcr Ciip d.iy kim -Aow^. 

Oh, Lord ! but I vv(-r(; blue, 
Fer there were Sweetlieart, ovvned by Strong, 

An' Makin's hoss, 'I'her Jew; 
But, wuss tlian all, lIi.iL feller Clay 

fled ent(;rcd Jietsy Green, 
An' somewhar from ther Texas way 

They'd broug-ht (Vmw Prairie Queen. 

*' I 'lowed right off thet I were done,', 

An' tried to draw ther hoss. 
Ther judges wanted all ther fun, 

An' stated, mighty cross, * 

Thet I hed come along too late 

Ter draw my hoss et all; 
They 'lowed I'd start ez sure ez fate 

Thet brown hoss, Jjutterball. 

" Sez I, 'All right,' an' saddlin' up 

I sent him ter ther post. 
' Now ef you wins ther Autumn Cup,' 

Sez I, ' yer jist a ghost; 
But then I'll buy a pool, because 

Y(;r might win arter all.' 
Three thousan' ter a hundred waz 

Ther odds gin Hutterball. 

*' Now, right hyar's vvhar ther fun kim in. 

The-m judges Vvraz so smart; 
My hoss went right along an' win — 

Upset their apple-cart. 
He jump(!d out at ther fall o' flag. 

An' n('ver stopped at all; 
Thar wasn't nary singh- nag 

Ez got nf'ar I'utterball. 



70 Talcs of the Turf. 

" Thet night Jerusha — wife as waz — 

She kim an' said ter me, 
' I wants thet new hat now, because 

Yer won the Cup, I see.' 
* Hyar's jest a thousan' in cold cash,' 

I sez; 'don't spar' expense.' 
She got ther hat, an' made er mash — 

I've never seen her sence. 

" Et fust I felt most mighty bad 

Ter find out she hed gone; 
The darkest hour, you know, 't is said, 

Is just afore ther dawn. 
Since then I 'm happier in my mind; 

More peaceful are my days; 
Ther Lord I think uncommon kind 

Ter send sich luck both ways." 



OLD FREELAND. 

They are schooling Freeland over the timber. 

Over the fences and walls of stone. 
My heart flames up like a dying ember 

That burns in the darkness all alone; 
And I fancy again, as I sit here dreaming, 

I hear the cheers from the crowded stand, 
As they hailed him there in the sunlight gleaming, 

The grandest race-horse in all the land. 

Oh. turn him out in a field of clover — 
Out in the clover up to his knees; 

Now that his racing-days are over, 
Give him a life of lordly ease. 



Old F7' eel and. 

You have not forq-otten that Auorust weather — 

Swiftly the picture comes back to me — 
When he and Miss Woodford raced together 

Down at tlie Branch l^y the sounding sea. 
Oh, look at them now as the finish they 're nearing", 

Measuring swiftly each stride for stride. 
Hark ! don't you hear the wild Westerners cheering ? 

Freeland has won, by a queen defied. 



71 



/ 




) 



" The grandest racc-ho7'sc in all the land. " 

Oh, turn him out in a field of clover — 
Out in the clover up to his knees; 

Now that his racing-days are over, 
Give him a life of lordly ease. 

The great races he won will live in story 
When you and I have been laid to sleep; 

Others will tell of his vanished glory 

When over our graves the grasses creep 



ys '/\i/cs of (he l^iof. 

I\-11 how the l)rii;ht nul with hhn^ sash otthc- 1 )\vycrs 
W'.is IraiU'il l)y him in ihc dust .iiul rl.w; 

llow thr L^ri'cn aiul whit*- en thr kiui;' ol tl\tM's 
l,rJ thi> i.M'1-at i|iiri'n past the post that Jaw 

()h. turn him out in a liohl ol i'h)\or — 
(.)ul in thorhnri'up to his kutH's; 

Now that his raring; J.iNs art' o\iM'. 
("ii\o him a Hlo ol loi\ll\- iMso. 

llo is iMippKnl now aiul I'an raiu' no K>n:L;iM"; 

I lis work is o\ ta', his mission ilono. 
I'hcai triMihlt" him mU on tho rai-o traok lom^cM-; 

Lot him i^nnh^>l aiul ilroam in tho sun. 
Tuiai him looso in a lu-Kl whorc^ tho sunhoams quiwr 

In i>n>kiMi lanrcvs amouL; tlu> loa\'os; 
W'hrio tho L;r'i^^s la^oops iKn\ ii to tho i-ushiii^;" ri\-or. 

Anil iiMpci's siui^ as tlu'\' i>uul thoir shoa\cs. 

C^h, tuiii him out in a lioKl i>l ihn'or — 
(^ut in iho i-lo\ oi- up to his knoos; 

Now that his laoiu!^ ila\s aro o\or. 
C'livo him a lik' ol lor«.ll\- t.\iso. 



niA I" riioRoiA-.iinKi" n m:ll. 

A IMi Ol- Kinhtkv in iSt>_;. 

Dili vou t^vor hoar \c\\ ol a hrown maro oalloil Noll, 
That was hrod in Kainturk. o\\ tho oV\ Ashkuul farm ? 

0\ tho rai'o that sho run anil tho stako that sho won ? 

W hat ' \'ou ha\on"t ? Sit down, thon; I'll spin \-ou iho \arn 

' Iw.is in luno, si\t\- throo, .uul tho hum o' tho hcc 
W.is .1 sound r.iroK- luMid ahout l-oxinL;lon wa\-, 

1'\m-i1u> i-attlin^;- o' j^uns .iml tho snailiuL^ o' drums 
M.ulo tho most o' tho uuisic wo ho.ird o\ r\ <\a\ . 



T/iitl r/iinoiiy/ihycd Nell. j^ 

In a lilll'- hrovvii cnV aL lli<: cd;.-/; ola lot, 

( )ii ill'- old I iiiaipikc road thai, led down t,o t Iw fort, 

Where die '.liadovvs aL du'.l; met lo dan( c " Money Mnsls' ' 
I'ollie wliippooi-will'. eliorns, dwell, [ennie MeC'oiirl. 

All round il. llie corn raised ii.s spears lo llie. morn, 

In ;.|jile o' llie vandals in ;',i'ay and in Miie; 
I'Or llie hollyhocks l.all hy llie low j',arden wall 

I ia<l wiinessed I wo armies pass hy in review. 

'Idiroiii'li that. Ion" summer day she eoidd lie.ir (.ir away 

llie low, ihiniderous i.o'owl ol lln- hiv Tarrotl, jMiiis, 
'J'ill ihe e( hoes lliey wol;e rolled away in llie smok(; 
And (aine, hrokenly hack in the. snarl o' the driiins. 

In the lasl. waiiini;' litdil., when 'i. was ne;n-in;,'; the ni^dit, 
l>hie <;yed Jenni-- erepl. out. to the low eolt.a;;e i(at.e, 

When a s(|uadron in I'.ray ( anie swift, ridiiii;'; that, way, 
And tlie.n hailed l.o camp l.here hecause. it, was lat.e. 

Now, amonv; them rode one thai, was dear as the sun 

'lOllie heart, o' Miss Jennie a prisoner, loo. 
I jc 'd one .iriii in a sliii;';, like a hird's hrokeii win;,'', 

An' a id 1 1, eai.de ^deanied on his shoulder o' hliie. 

I hen the ;,drl she turned whiU! as a idiosi in the lifdil, 
'ldiou!.di she spoke not. a word lo llie prisf)iier ther<:; 
Hut ihe Lord, who heeds all to llie sparrows llia.l fill, 

Musi have, sent down an ant'/l and answered her prayer. 

When lh<'. cam|j-iire's red li'.dil hiirned a hole in the niidil, 
She. crept out to the j^lact where the wounded man lay, 

'Neath a Iiue<; sj^readinL,'' oak, half concealed hy a cloak. 
And she hound up his wounds in a woman's dell wa.y. 

" Mighty fond o' the Yanks," said the Johnnies. " What thanks 
Docs ycr ever expect that yoiidl ^n;t frcjin them s[>ies ?" 



74 Tales of the Tiirf. 

" Oh, I thought you were men," proudly answered she them, 
And I noticed a dangerous gleam in her eyes. 

Then she whispered a word that the prisoner heard, 
And she threw him a kiss as she vanished away. 

Not a Johnnie could see, though it looked plain to me 
There 'dbe fun in that camp 'fore the dawn o' the day. 

Then the moon came and went like a crescent that 's bent 
By some venturesome angel to sail through the skies, 

While the stars, one by one, half in fear, half in fun, 

Peeped at earth through the smoke with their millions of eyes. 

The lone guard at his post, to and fro, like a ghost. 
Paced out to the roadway, then back to the lane, 

Where he paused to look down on the lights o' the town, 
Gave a shift to his carbine, and paced back again. 

With a shadowy glide to the prisoner's side. 

All unseen by the sentry, crept Jennie McCourt. 

" I 've a horse for you, dear, in the thicket quite near," 

She low whispered. " Come, mount her, and ride for the fort.' 

Not a twig did they break, not a bird did they wake, 
As together they crept to the place where it stood; 

Then she kissed him good-night, and with eyes all alight 
Watched him ride out alone to the edge o' the wood. 

'T was that thoroughbred Nell that he mounted, and — well, 
'T was the flash of a carbine, an answering cheer, 

Told the Johnnies that night o' their prisoner's flight, 
While a woman prayed God for his safety in fear. 

Down the old turnpike road, with her crippled blue load. 

The wild thoroughbred clashed with the speed o' the wind — 

Never stopping for breath, for the shadow o' death 
Followed swiftly on cavalry chargers behind. 




" Down the old turnpike road, with her crippled blue load. 

The wild thoroughbred dashed with the speed of the wind. " 



That Thoronghbred Nell. 77 

The gray dust, like a veil, from her mane to her tail 

Wrapped her close in its folds, and half hid her from sight, 

While the white flecks o' foam ever backwards were blown 
As she sped, like a phantom, straight on through the night. 

The farm watch-dogs would bark as we passed in the dark, 
While the farmer's wife muttered, "There 's foxes about," 

For how little she knew that a soldier in blue 
Was then riding a race for his life on that route. 

Once a sentry in gray heard us coming his way. 

" Halt ! Who goes there ? " he shouted. We dashed o'er the 
brido-e; 
Ere a musket could flash, with another wild dash 

We had vanished from sight o'er the top o' the ridge. 

So all through the long night we kept up our wild flight. 
And the dawn o' the day found us safe at the fort. 

I could never half tell all my thanks to Brown Nell; 

And I 've never ceased thanking sweet Jennie McCourt. 

What 's become o' the mare ? Well, she 's dead, I declare, 
But that brown colt down yonder is one of her sons. 

Any good? Why, great Scott ! Not a horse in the lot 
Can beat him a-runnino-. He oroes like ereat euns. 

Oh, the girl ? On my life, I forgot. She 's my wife. 
Though I never knew just why she cottoned to me. 

We've a family — four growing up 'round the door; 

That's Miss Jennie, the second, you 've now on your knee. 




78 Talcs of the Turf. 

THE HERO OF THE STABLES. 

He was only a stable lad, was Jim, yet in his rugoed breast 
There beat a heart as tender and true as beats 'neath a velvet 

vest. 
He couldn't repeat, I '11 stake my life, one o' the commandments 

ten, 
But he 'd more religion 'neath his coat than you '11 find in the most 

o' men. 

Born with a knowledge o' right and wrong that most o' men 

acquire 
For the simple reason they 're afraid o' a brimstone lake o' fire. 
He loved the children that played about as well as a miser gold. 
Watched them as a shepherd does his sheep when the darkness 

veils the fold. 

Among -the horses Jim had in charge was a stallion, big and 

black. 
As vicious a brute as ever set hoof iron-shod, on a trotting- 

track. 
He had killed three men already there, an' nobody now but Jim 
Dared enter the stall where he stood alone — the hoss seemed 

fond o' him. 

He rushed at strangers, open-mouthed, when they ventured to 

near his stall; 
The signs o' his temper showed in dents kicked deep in the hard 

wood wall. 
They'd christened him Satan. Well, indeed, he fitted that 

dev'lish name. 
Though in looks he were a beauty from his heels to his ebon 

mane. 

In the spring a little gal come out along wi' a chap from town 
To see the horses. She'd eyes of blue an' hair of a golden 
brown; 



The Ifcro of the Stables 



79 



ThcLiL^h l)ut six y(!ars oKI, she loxcd a horse as well as a woman 

can, 
An' a woman loves a hoss, sometimes, far more than she does a 

man. 

She VI i)c;t them all with her dainty hands an' ])rattle in childish 

Till I seemed to hear the song's o' the birds an' streamlets laughin' 
free. 



I ( 







~^ 



I • 



X 



// 



" y« //w dark o' Sataies stall.''^ 

Then I got to talkin' along wi' the chap o' old-time racin' ways, 
O' politics an' a lot o' things as a feller will nowadays. 

'T was all of a sudden we missed the gal. an', glancin' down the 

wall, 
I caught the sheen o' her g()ld-l)rown hair in the dark o' Satan's 

stall. 
My feet seemed glued to the old barn floor, an' my heart stood 

still in fright, 
As I caught th(; flash o' that demon's eyes, like torches burnin* 

bright. 



8o Talcs of the Turf. 

I thoug-ht o' the baby I had left in my tar-otT mountain home, 
And tried to pray for the dainty gal that stood in that stall alone- 
Then I saw that stable boy, that Jim. dash in through the open 

door 
O" Satan's stall, an' the baby lay unharmed on the old liarn tloor. 

Strong man as I am. I fainted then. When back into life I came 
Poor Jim lay there on the hay, a corpse, by that big black devil 

slain ! 
He 'd given his life for that little gal's. A hero's act, you say ? 
Aye, one that'll give him a crown, I guess, when it comes to 

judgment ciay. 

How did it happen ? God only knows. It was only Him could see; 
But I hope that never again on earth will terror come to me 
Such as I felt when I saw that gal alone in that darkened stall 
With the big black boss, while Death's dark wings cast shadows 
over all. 

He was only a stable boy, was Jim, yet in his rugged breast 
There beat a heart as tender an' true as beats 'neath a velvet vest. 
He couldn't repeat, I 11 stake my life, one o' the commandments 

ten, 
Yet I reckon he 'II fare on judgment day better than most o' men. 



HOW ROY WILKES DOWNED THE GAXCx. 

I say, have you forgotten, lads, the race at Fleetwood Park, 
When Davies captured all the cash between daylight an' dark, 
While apples, Chinese-Iantern-like, hung shining 'mongst the 

leaves. 
An' shocks o' corn like pickets stood among the fallen sheaves ? 
The day that Roy Wilkes downed the ^ang ? Aye, that 's the day 

I mean. 
Its memory still pursues me like the shadow of a dream. 



How Roy Wilkes Do7<nicd lite (iaiio-. 8i 

BlrU IJoblc had Ed Annan there, an' I remember vveU 
That Herring-ton was pih)tin' the roan mare Ulster l>elle. 
Thelitde black marci Allen Maid was driven then by Trout, 
While Turner, with BalsoraWilkes, thought he could beat Roy out. 
Feeks o'er El Monarch held the reins. I thought that he 'd gone 

daft, 
When I saw Davies driving Roy, an' jest sat down an' laughed. 

He surely had more cheek that day than any man I 'd seen, 
To get out with a gang like that, an' him so pumpkin green; 
For there 's a heap in driving, lads, as most o' folks allow; 
There: 's lots o' drivers all the time, an' but one Doble now. 
I changed my mind some afterwards when loud the cheering rang 
That greeted Roy, the stallion king, that day he downed the gang. 

When wanning u[) l:)ef()re the race, they made a pretty sight. 
The tiny Allen Maid went by, a shadow o' the night; 
The red roan coat o' Ulster Belle like burnished copper shone; 
El Monarch seemed o' silver steel when he shot by alone; 
Balsora Wilkes ungainly looked, but when Roy Wilkes came down 
The track, a perfect storm o' cheers went up to greet the brown. 

Who seemed a picture taken out from some old master's frame. 
Folks thought Pegasus had come back to visit ea.rth again. 
His eyes flashed fire; he held his head aloft in kingly pride; 
He seemed to spurn the very earth nor touch it in his stride. 
He glanced about him right an' left, an' somehow seemed to say, 
" I '11 prove that I am king, indeed, upon this track to-day." 

The betting men were out in force that day at Fleetwood Park; 
'T was fifty Roy an' fifty field. I backed him for a lark. 
I knew the horse was mighty fast — how fast I didn't know, 
l)Ut thought when Davies held the reins he had but litde show. 
The o-anir would down him if they could, I knew as sure as fate, 
An' so before I wagered much I thought it best to wait. 



82 7\f/i-s of the Turf. 

For Fortune, hckle jade at best, is full o' smiles and tears; 
That plungers always come to q;rief 's the history o' the years. 
The oTandest-lookiuL;" horse ot all, that s certain sure to win. 
Mav break down when he s way ahead an' be the last horse in. 
Such thoui^-hts as these jxissed through my mind: I said I 'd wait 

awhile. 
Then washer more it" b'ortune seemed inclinet.! that da)- to smile. 

The lirst heat was an easy thing- for Roy, it seemed to me. 

He d Allen Maid an' Ulster Helle to keep him company. 

He bade them good-by at the half, where watches marked "one- 
four," 

Reluctant -like, as Kners leave their lassies at the door 

When clocks chime out the wee sma' hours, an' stars begin to 
wane. 

As though, to use an old song's words, the parting gave him pain. 

Ron- Wilkes now sold lor hfty. while tlu- field brought twentv- 

nine. 
Hut Fortune, who had smiled before, put on a trown this tinie: 
Ihm- Allen INIaid cut in an' took the pole right at the word 
An' flitted round the lower turn as swiftly as a bird. 
The stallion ium[KHl inti^ the air — he m:ule a tangled break 
That sent him ten lengths to the rear — ni)- heart began to ache. 
The little black mare, pacing fast, climbed swiftly up the hill. 
She beat Ed Annan home a length. The crowd was hushed an' 

sdll. 

Don't ask me where Roy Wilkes came in. I didn't care to know. 

I thought it was a hopeless task Km* him to win. an' so 

1 went an' hedged m\- mone\- out h\ betting on thetield. 

1 didn't know the heart o' oak that seal-brown coat concealed; 

So. while the field brought twenty-five 'gainst twenty-two for 

Roy. 
I placed three hundred in the box an' hugged myself for jo)-. 



How Roy Wilkes Do7oncd llic Gang. 83. 

Just Tore; th(;y started for this licat I i^lanced up at the stand 
An' saw a red bandana waved in some tall fellow's hand; 
Th(^n, turning- quick, saw Davies nod his head, an' like a flash 
The thought came to me: Roy will win; they've got on all their 

cash. 
I tri(;d to hedge my money out, but didn't have a chance, 
r\jr evc^rytime they came to score that stallion led the danc('. 

The Maid, the jjelle an' Roy all swung round the first turn in 

line;; 
A blanket would have covered all the three at any time. 
Then, as the stallion forged ahead, he once more left his feet, 
An' Allen Maid shot t(j the front — I thought she 'd win the heat. 
But no ! The horse soon caught again — he rallied with a will 
An' set sail for the leaders who were climbing up the hill. 

The sulky-wheels seemed flashing rims — the spokes were lost 

to sight; 
He danced along as shadows dance across the fac(^ o' night. 
He soon passed all but Allen Maid. Trout thought he had it 

won. 
When suddenly a flying shape dashed by him in tlxi sun 
That gilded o'er the Point o' Rocks, an' quicker than a flash 
Those drivers realized that Roy VI a mortgage on the cash. 

'T was all in vain. l)alsora Wilkes was hurried through the 

straight 
To catch that stallion frc^m the West, who "d struck at last his 

gait. 
You 've seen an engine flash along the narrow rails o' steel. 
While all the mile-posts, j>ainted white, behind it dance a reel; 
You 've seen a whirlwind sweep across a meadow, daisy-grown — 
So swept Roy Wilkes along the track, an' finished all alone. 

An' now the odds were three to one on Roy, the takers few. 
Old General Turner an' the gang were feeling mighty blue: 



84 7\r/cs of the Turf. 

They \1 all their money in the box, and couldn't get it out; 
They knew that Roy could beat them then the M'hole lenoth o* 

the route. 
When sccM-in;^- up he seemetl to sa\'. as plain as plain could be, 
"Although I know I'm handicapped to-da\-. )ou can't beat me." 

The race was all but over then. Ren' went away so fast. 

The instant they recei\ed the word. that, when the half was 

passc^d, 
He led his held an open length, an' going up the hill 
Ho seemed, with every single stride, to draw off further still. 
He then jogged home just as he pleased, while loud the cheering 

rang, 
For, single-handed and alone, Roy Wilkes had downed the gang. 

1 low fast were those foiu" heats ? you ask. The fastest ever made 
At Meet wood b\' a pacing horse; an' )et he onl\- played 
With that whole iu-ld. an' beat the gang in such an eas)- way. 
It seemed he might have distanced all who met him there that 

day. 
1 '11 oambU^ now a horse that meets an' beats him anywhere 
Can oivc JNlaud S. a rattling' race — an' she 's no common mare. 



MISS WOODFORD. 

Ken tuclvN- -born, Kent uck\- -bred. 
A beauty from her heels to head. 
I see her in my dreams again. 
The daughter oi old Fanc)- Jane 
Ami Rillet. as slu^ stood that night, 
A picture in the waning light. 
Nor dreamed a queen she crowned should be, 
With laurels. b\- the sounding sea. 



Miss Woodford. 

I sec; her lc(l into lIk- |-in^-, 

I'iL (hiiiL^IUcr ol the harem's king". 

With ([uiv'rini^ nc^rvcs and (lashiiiL;" eyes 

Slie looks around in cahn surprise. 

I hear llu; auctioneer (^xpkiin 

Iler breeding-: " liillet r'ancy Jane." 



^^ 




" Tlir d(iu;'htrr nf old luiiuy Jdiic nild Hillcl." 

The bickhng kigs — the fdly 's sold, 
Bought 1))' the Dwyers' yellow gold. 

The years (haft by, and once again, 

With throbbing heart and reeling brain, 

I sec; a great race run and won 

At Monmouth 'neath a burning sun. 

1 see them gather at the ])ost; 

I see that filly or her ghost. 



86 Talcs of the Turf. 

"They're off," the caller loudly cries — 
I follow them with strainint^ eyes. 

I hear the sound of rattlino- hoofs 
Like rain-drops beating- on the roofs, 
And catch the flash of colors bright, 
Like comets hurled across the night; 
I hear again through all the years 
The music of the deafening cheers 
That rise and fall and die away 
As does the tide on Fundy's Bay. 

The hurrying hoofs draw nearer yet. 
The jockeys' teeth are firmly set; 
The racers, straining every nerve. 
Like shadows sweep around the curve. 
The colors, shifting as they run, 
Look like a rainbow in the sun. 
And cracking whips make music dear. 
With jingling spurs, to turfman's ear. 

The flying feet come nearer still; 
'T is like the clatter of a mill, 
That changes to a rolling drum, 
As down the stretch the racers come. 
I hear men shout above the din: 
" Come on, the black ! " " The gray will win ! " 
The dust is flying like a cloud — 
The horses hidden in a shroud. 

Look quick ! the dust is backward blown; 
They 're just a furlong now from home. 
A brown mare leads the broken ranks; 
A chestnut hangs ui)on her flanks. 
The frenzied racers rush and reel 
Beneath the sting of whips and steel. 



A Colored Tip. 87 

Now ride, McLaughlin! ride for life — 
So won younL( Lochinvar a wife. 

The brown comes on with o-iant strides; 
She feels the master hand that i;-uides. 
Though slender legs begin to tire, 
She struggles on to reach the wire. 
The chestnut falters and falls back; 
The brown comes on and takes the track. 
" Miss Woodford wins ! "' I hear the cheer, 
And crown her queen of all the year. 

Beyond the mountains, where unrolled 
The wheat-fields lie in sheets of gold, 
When ripened by the summer sun, 
And silver streamlets laughing run, 
Miss Woodford wanders. By her side 
A filly plays — the Haggin pride — 
To prove in after days, I ween. 
The worthy daughter of a queen. 



A COLORED TIP. 

(DiXIANA, Feiuu'ary, i8S6.) 

I 's an ole Kaintucky niggah, an' fo' nigh on fifty yeah 

1 's been workin' fo' de Majah on de ole plantation heah, 

An' I 's watched de colts an' fillies as dey 'd kick aroun' an' run, 

When de blue grass hid deir fetlocks whar it rippled in de sun. 

I kin 'member when de Majah was a younga' man dan now, 
Foah dem debbles Care an' Trebble cut deir furrows in his brow; 
When he put above de gate-way, in big lettahs dat war cl'ar: 
" Dar's no peddlers an' no nuffin' but a race-hoss wanted hyar." 



88 Talcs of the T^irf. 

Da 's been many a good race-hoss dat war raised upon dis farm. 
Hyar dat streak ob lightnin', Punster, an' de great Ban Fox war 

born. 
Hyar de King- Bans lib in clober till we sen' dem off to sell, 
An' dey dons de silks an' satins fo' to mak' de people yell. 

Ober yondah Stan's ole Himyah, an' I 'members well de day 
Dat dat ole hoss win de Merchants', an' I 's heerd ole Majah say 
Dat afore he done went broke down he war jes' about de boss, 
Like ole Freelan' am in dese days, an' no common kin' ob hoss. 

See dat filly standing- yondah an' a-nibblin' at her hay; 
Bettah keep youh eye upon her if she starts on Derby Day. 
Bettah watch Sis Himyah, massa, when she starts for any race; 
Bettah play her sure an' sartin — play her straig-ht and play her 
place. 

Kin she beat Ban Fox ? No, massa, not if dat King Ban am right. 
He kin beat the whole caboodle in dat race cl'ar out ob sight. 
Ole Jack Chinn, afore he sold him, tole me time an' time agin 
Dat dat colt, ef rightly ridden, beat de debbil, suah as sin. 

Dar, I 's done bin gone an' done it. Majah says I talk too much. 
Beats ole Nick my tongue gets runnin' when I talks ob colts an' 

such. 
He gets mad an' scolds dis niggah when I hasn't done jes right; 
Den he ban's me out a dollah, 'foah de sun 's done gone at night. 

Freedom ? What I want of freedom when I 's happy whar I am, 
Libbin' like a bee in clober — workin', too, fo' such a man? 
You kin tak' youh 'Mancipation Proclamation to de ryar — 
" Dar's no peddlers an' no nuffin but a race-hoss wanted hyar." 



Forbidden Fr2tit. 89 

FORBIDDEN FRUIT; 

Or, How Flying Ci.oud was Saved. 
I. 

Jimmy, Bill has passed his checks in, and has gone across the 

range 
To a place thar ain't no hosses, to a country that is strange; 
But he left good deeds behind him. Could a poet these discern — 
Put them down in homely phrases — then his fellow-men might 

learn 
That there's men with hearts as honest in the shadow of a stall 
As there is around the churches where the steeples' shadows fall. 

II. 

Bill was nothing but a rubber; bin with hosses all his life; 
Liked the sense o' bein' lonely; hadn't either child or wife; 
Used to whisper to the hosses like he thought they'd understand 
Everything he tried to tell them, while with hard yet gentle 

hand 
He would braid their manes with ribbons and would smooth their 

glossy coats; 
See that each one had its water, see that each one had its oats. 

III. 

In the stable where Bill labored was the trotter Flying Cloud; 
He'd a record in the twenties, though the most o' folks allowed 
He could trot a good deal faster if he had to trot to win. 
Some said he could beat the devil, though that saying were a sin. 
He were Bill's partic'lar fancy, just the apple o' his eye, 
An' he watched him mighty closely when he saw a stranger nigh. 

IV. 

'T was in eighty, down in Boston; Flying Cloud was entered there 
In the free-for-all for stallions, an' I often heard Bill swear 



90 Td/('s of the Turf. 

There was nary hoss to heat him, not one as could make him trot. 
Even thouo^h sonic! mighty good ones had been entered in the 

k)t/ 
I had seen him up the country win in time I thought was slow, 
But I never took his measure; didn't know how fast he'd go. 

V. 

'Twas x\\v night before the big race, when two strangers went to 

Rill. 
Offeretl him ten thousand dollars if he'd work the stallion ill — 
Give him just a little somethin' that they 'd furnish there an' then. 
" No," said Bill, " I wouldn't cK) it if you 'd make it ten times 

ten." 
An' that night he moved his blankets to the stallion's stable, 

wluM-e 
He could watch the hoss an' hULl out if they meant him mischief 

ther(\ 

\i. 

It was shortly after midnight. I^ill was lost in other scenes. 
Ghosts of trotters long departed chased each other through his 

dreams, 
Smashing records all to flinders; for it's strange the time tluy 

kei^p 
When the)' scMid along their horsc^s in the magic land of sleep. 
Bill was wakened l)y the creakin' of a window in the wall. 
While a little streak o' moonlight darted crosswise o' the stall. 

\ 11. 

Then he lay and watched tlu^ window till he saw a face appear 
At the opening, when his pistol rang out loud an' sharp an' clear; 
An' he heard a curse low muttered an' the noise o' tl\in' teet 
That the echoes seemed to waken all along the moonlit street. 
Blades o' grass beneath the window showed some splashes here 

an' there 
That were crimson in their color, but nobody seemed to care. 




■ Flying Cloud don't get no apple ^fore this racey you uiidcrslaiui ! 



I'orbiddciL Fruit. 93 

vin. 

The next morning-, some; time after \\\\\ had rubbed the stallion 

down, 
There come lookin_^- through the stables (juite a party from the 

town, 
An' amon!L( them was a woman just as pretty as a peach 
Such as school boys always Ioul,^ for wh(;n they 're han^rin' out o* 

reach. 
She just plied old Bill with questions, that he answered mi_o;hty 

cross; 
r>om her pockets took an apphi that she offered to the hoss. 



IX. 

Hut I)ill (piickly snatched the pippin from the dainty creature's 

hand — 
" Flyinir Cloud don't _<ret no apple 'fore this race, you under- 
stand ! " 
Was his muttered exclamation; an' he added, speakinof low: 
"Apples just raised hell with Adam once in Eden lon_iL( aj^ro." 
Flushed the woman to her temples as she quickly turned away. 
While beneath her jetty lashes licrhtnin^c,'- seemed to flash and 
play. 

X. 

Flying- Cloud that day in Boston won a race you should have 

seen; 
Beat Don Juan and fourteen others — trotted there in two-thirteen. 
While his party made a killin^j;-. They had every ticket sold 
On the stallion that Dame Rumor made the fastest ever foaled; 
But the proudest man around there was old Bill, who led him 

back, 
Crowned the kini^ of trottin::^ stallions from his triumph on the 

track. 



94 



Tales of the Turf' 

XI. 



That same nioht. as we sat smoking by the open stable door, 
TelHno- tales of old-time races like we 'd often done before, 
Bill remarked, " Guess I was foolish 'bout that apple, Tom, to-day. 
Ang-els never pizen bosses, an' I reckon 't aint their way. 
But you see, lad, I were narv^ous 'bout the boss, an' anyhow. 
Men can't be too mi^-hty careful in this business, you '11 allow. 

XII. 

"I were iniiT^hty fond o' apples when a lad, I were myself, 
An' that pippin looks so temptin', as it lays thar on the shelf, 
That I reckon I shall eat it just afore I g-oes to bed. 
Want a piece ? " I don't eat apples, so I only shook my head. 
Then the moon rose o'er the hill-tops, while the shadows shorter 

grew. 
An' I said " Good-night " an' left him, for I 'd still some work to do. 

XIIT. 

Jimmy. Bill did eat that apple. When we called him at the dawn, 
He were sleepin', but his spirit somehow 'd taken wings an' gone. 
Heart disease, the doctors called it. for them doctors never knew 
C this tale about the i)ip[)in that I m spinning here to you. 
But if Bill could only spoken; if those lips, so still an' mute. 
Could have moved, he'd made the verdict: " Cause o' death — 
forbidden fruit." 




W/iy the Captain Qitit Racing, 9c 

WHY THE CAPTAIN QUIT RACING. 

Ax Old Turkman's Story. 

Will I join you ? What ? In a o-lass o' wine ? 
No, none o' your new fancy drinks in mine ! 
Rye whisky an' sugar's the drink for me, 
But wine an' my stomach never '11 agree, 
An' I 'm gettin' too old to change now'days. 
For old dogs, you know, hate to learn new ways. 
Wine may do now for young men o' your wealth, 
But I '11 stick to my whisky. Here 's your health ! 

You were talkin' hoss when I wandered in — 
About Proctor Knott an' the bay Galen — 
An wonderin' which was the best to play, 
The big chestnut colt or the gallant bay. 
Well, you might stand right there an' argufy 
As to which was best till the day you die, 
An' the chances are you wouldn't agree 
Any more than you does about wine with me. 

For there 's nothin' sure in the racin' line. 
An' racin' bosses is losin' good tinic 
Unless you can race for the sport alone, 
An' back only bosses you call your own. 
Then you 're often wrong, as I ought to know. 
What — tell you the story? Oh, pshaw, boys, no! 
Well, sit down with me by this blazin' fire, 
And for once I '11 give you your hearts' desire : 

It was down in old Kentucky, many, niany years ago, 

Where the sweet magnolias blossom in the spring-time white as 

snow; 
Where the blue grass pastures stretch away beneath the old oak 

trees, 
And roses, blushing, bend their heads beneath the amorous breeze. 



96 



Td/i's of the Turf. 



I W sixU^cn hossos in in\ strins;"; the likeliest one o' all, 

A Imi^- ha)' mare by Hoston. kncnvn as Nancy Alterall. 

I \1 hiH^n winnin' lots o' ract^s. an" was thin' sort o' hii^h — 

OwmuhI llu^ earth, an' was just try in' tor a niortj^age on the sky. 

Nane\- Atlerall was entered in an all-as^ecl swec^pstakes race. 
An' 1 ihouL^ht that she coiiKl win it, but was sure she'd ^et the 

place: 
So I put Pan RoL^ers o\\ her with instructions: "Take the track 
When the tkiL^- tails, an' just keep it, never turnin' to look back." 

rheri> wiM-e just eleven bosses that stood orrouped about the post. 
Rosters" tace was white as ashes, an' he looked nion^ likt- a L^host 
Than a H\ in' human beino\ Suddenh' the tk\i;" went down. 
An' the race be^ian in earnest; but the leader was Jack Hrown. 

"r was in vain 1 Un^ked tor Nancy an' my colors blue and white. 
rhe\ h.ul \ anislunl as completely as a tallin' star at ni^ht. 
An' I nevtM' knc^w what happened till the race* was run and won. 
Then 1 tumbled to the racket, an" 1 knew that 1 d been dime. 

I had backed the mare ibr thousands, both to win an" lor a place. 
An' had Rogers rotle to orders 1 'd ha\ e never lost the race. 
\\\\\ he nexer tried to win it, and the starter, Parsem Hill. 
Told me she was lett a-standin" when the tla;^- tell, slandin' still. 

I was mad. an' n'ou can shamble that I ripped around and swore; 
Init that didn't sa\e my mone_\-, an" 1 \ owed 1 'd race no more. 
So 1 went an' sold m\' bosses — sacriticed 'tMii tor a sonj^". 
Now 1 ne\er back a race-hoss thouLlh I do not think it wrone". 



riuMii that likes can bet on races; as tor me. 1 'vt^ jumped the ^ame. 
RatluM- buck aL^ainst the tii^er. thouL^h 1 say it to \\\\ shame. 
It the jockeys all were honest, an' the racin' always square. 
There "d be more men ownin" bosses; there d be tewer men that 
swear. 



BiwtoiL s Piairic J idle. 



97 




BURTON'S 

Ou, How TlIK CUI' \Vy\S KuN AND WON. 

I lave you (;v(;r rcMcl the story, 

or ]i(;ai-(l .'inyhocly tell 
()r how once tli(; ciij) was; nin and won by lUirton's IVairie BcUc? 
A litth: scrawny ch(;stnnt marc, with a golden tail and inane, 
That, whene'er sh(; cut the sunshine. tlirouL,di, seemed l)ann(jrets 

()' flame. 
()h, a _L;amer race was never run — I 'm wilhn^;" now to swear 
That there never was so game a hoss nor half so game a marc. 

It was on a Soutliern race-track an' nii^h twenty years ago; 
It was drawin' close on to winter, an' tlu; air was full o' snow. 
1 had a hoss called Kagle, a big, powerful looking gray. 
That was raised in old Kaintucky, an' was br^'d to run an' stay; 
It cost inc a cool two thousand just to enter (or the cup, 
r)Ut I thought my hoss could win it, an' I put my money up. 

There were six that faced the starter, an' the night a-comin' on; 
They were at the post a moment — -in anothr^r they were gone. 
My gray hoss wcmt out and took the track. I le set so fast a pace 
1 le ]i;id that field o' six strung out in the first mile o' the, race; 



gS 



Jd/is of tJic Turf. 



\\c Unl tluMii hv ihrco open loni^lhs wIumi they ^-alloped by the 

slaiul. 
An' next him eanie l>urlon's ehc^stnul mare, both runnin' well in 

hand. 

Tlu^ second timt> the\- passed the stand \\\\ i;ra\' was K\ulin" still, 
it seiMued like he oui'hl to lea\-e the mare iust at his jocke\-'s 



rhe\ had run two miles already then an' still had two to oro. 
1 eau^^lu the tlash o" m\ searlet sash ~a th-(.>-lly"s sii^-nal li'Iow. 
I tell the hush o' the multitude. lluMi heard somebody \c^ll: 
"My ^\(^k\. the elu\stnut's collared the L;ra\' — see iUirton's 
rrairic> Kelle ! " 

The tale was true -a miU^ to ^o they wert^ racin' side by side, 
To music made b\' whip an' spur, a-measurin' stride lor stride. 
The)- sped awa\- 'round the lower turn an' down the backstretch 

tlew. 
riu\\- Und^ed tVom the stand a slui^le boss — \ou 'd ne\er dreamed 

o' two. 
1 fell llu^ cold sweat runnin' down my back like drops o' rain. 
.\ sixteenth out slu^ taltered a bit. then oamely came ai^ain. 

The Lirax was straininj^ c^ver\ nerve, but Burton's marc was oame. 

Three times she seemed a-i;"ivin' it up, then came witha rush a^'ain. 

'riu> air was hill o' mcMi's tlyin' hais; cheers llew about like hail; 

The mare was comin' alon*^- outside, my i^ra)' boss next the rail. 

In the last tew strides she tori^ed ahead; tluMi. stai^-^iei'inj-;". lurched 

and t'ell. 
Pead under the wire — a winner, too la}- Hurton's Prairie Belle! 



Till'; DklVI'U'S SIOkY. 

{Tknas, rKSo.) 

Yes, sir; I '\c Ixcn (lii\iir liossi's dovv lor iiii;li on Iwcnly year, 
An' I '\c seen sonic Innny races, ihal llw crowd llioiii-Jil nn^lily 

(juccr; 
An'j(;sl()ncc I lian<ll<'(| rihUons when I really fell afraid 

I were drivin' old Snap DraLjon in a race \L;in Liiiipin' Maid. 

Jt were 'way down sonlli, in Texas, whnr llic hoys air on llic sliool, 
Carry pistols in llicir po( ki-ls, an' a hovvic in llicir l)ool, 
An' Hicy liad a heap o' nionc)' on llic marc an '"in llic lioss, 
'Cause, I ciiess,llicy soil o' reckoned LliaL (lie IJinpin' Maid \vcr(] 
boss. 

"I' were a nialcli, an' I he condilions vvci-c ihc Ix-sl 1 wo on I o' llirce, 
y\n' llic slakes lliey were liv<' llion .and |)|-clly l)i" llicy looked 

lo inc. 
Well, I won llic lirsi Ileal easy, sorl o' come home in a \(>i!'; 
Looked lo me I 'd lake llic nioin^y, jnsl like lollin' oil a lo^. 

Onl ihar ste])|)('d a lono- lank C()wi)oy, jnsL as I wen; coolin' out, 
An' says he lo me, " Say, siranocr, whal in ihimder yon ahoiiL? 
Me an' my pards has our money in llic pool hox on llic mare. 

II she lo;ics yon 're a t'oner, lor we 'i"c hound lo i"aise your hair. " 

" Well," says I, ni)' dander risin' as I kiixl o' si/ed ||i(t vanu;, 
*' Yon (an hhill me, hnl 1 in w inn in' wi' Snap 1 )im:'()Ii all llic same. " 
When he Icll me he were n.i.dy, hnl I didll'l hlld:,;e an im h, 
'riuniidi I saw he ihoii'dil I 'd weaken when il ( ainc down lo the 
pinch. 

Roth of lis were t^^'oin' level when llie slarler idv' the word, 
I'nl I heat her ^^oin' easy 'round ihe lirsl. Liirn like a hird, 
Drew away aloiii^ ihe l)ack;,lreLch farther still, an' S(iiiared for 

home, 
When 1 heard ihe ( rowd a yellin', an' I kimlcr hcave(l a i;roan. 



1 oo 7\r/cs of tJtc Turf. 

"I'or," says I, "I '11 1)(> a k\vaA man wlu-ii I rc\irh the jih1_l;i^s' slaiul, 
An' 1 ha\ (.Mi't i^ot lU) iiiorlo-ao-(> on ihr parst^n's [)i-onHsiHi huul." 
Ihit T krpl tlu- lu)ss a-i^oin' — ■ I wcm-o twenty iciiLi'ths or nu>ro 
'llcado' Limpin' Maid. I reckon, when I went across the score. 

When 1 passed ihe wire, such )-ellin' as thar was —'twould split 

an ear. 
Then th.ir i-oine the sound o' pistols llrin' rapid in \\\\ rear, 
An', a turnin' in \\\\ sulk\ , what 1 saw, chi lookin' 'round, 
Were the Lini[)in' Maid's tall (.Iriwu- lyin' di:ad ii[)on the 

ground. 

What ? The rc^ason wh)' it happened? Well, it 's simple as can 

he: 
Them air fellows thouodit that thaver luul beiai sellin' out to mc; 
So tlu>y sortiM- hatl a reck'nin', an' Tore \\v could us<.> his lips. 
riu'\- had dealt a hraei" L;ame ^^w him, an' had i^allu-red in his 

ldH[)S. 

I'heN' wtM-c> fools. Wh)-, old Snap HraLi'on could have heat the 

mari> that dia\', 
lUtchtnl to sulky or to wao-on, (^r in an)' kind o way. 
Oh. 1 had a o-reat reception when I went tluar way aL^ain! 
Though they thought I were dishonest, yet they 'lowed that I 

were Lianie. 



BOH AIKKN'S RIDK TO nh:ATH. 

An Oi i> OvvM'ii's SioRV. 

IVul I know little Aiken, the jt>cke\- ? Why, )-ou het 1 did. 

strauL^er, o' coursc\ 
No, he wasn't no rider like Murphy, hut tluai ther(^ were many 

lots worse — 
lle'd a rattlin' l^chhI seat an' was honest — that's somethin" ye 

can't sa\' o' all; 
An' he wasn't afraid, sir, o' mnhin', althouL'h he 'd hatl man\- a fall. 



J)ob Aikciis Ride lo Death. loi 

I fust saw th(t lad down in Texas; he were ridin' a racer calh^d 
Helle, 

That was fast as a sliot — for three-quarters lier owners aUowed 

she were lidl. 
An' I 'd made 'em a match for five luindrcd, for I had a hoss o' my 

own 
Tliat I knowed was as quick as chaindiirhtnin' — 2i <y(^(\\\-\ I'd 

christened Shoshone. 

I 'm not o-oin' to tell ye the story ahout that are race, for it 's old, 
An' ye know that such tales become chestnuts when they has 

been many times told ; 
lUit I lost both my hoss an' my money; my boy was outrode in 

the dash, 
And that Belle, with that feller, youni,'- Aiken, just galloped 

plumb off with the cash. 

Then we met — it was several years after — at Louisville, late in 

the fall; 
He was ridin' my hoss in the Merchants', a loni^^-stridin' bay they 

called Saul. 
There was thirty to one up ao-ainst him 'fore ever he went to the 

post; 
An' Bob Aiken looked sick and discourag-ed; his face was as 

white as a ghost. 

The race was the fourth on the programme, an' the day it was 

rainy and cold, 
While the fog like a pile o' gray blankets across the green fields 

had been rolled. 
But at last all the bosses were saddled, an' twelve o' them went 

to the post. 
Gray Nance was the choice o' the talent, an' o' money she carried 

the most. 



102 Td/cs of the Turf. 

When I helped young- Aiken to saddle he complained o' a pain in 

his side; 
But he reckoned he knew his own business, and swore he were 

able to ride. 
Yet my heart kind o' stood in m)- throat as I watched him slow 

gallop away. 
His face looked as white as a gravestone loomin' up through the 

mist cold an' gray. 

Thev stood grouped at the post but a moment. The fog hid the 

start from our view. 
As they dashed by the stand we could see 'em. and leadin' the 

field was True Blue; 
Gray Nance hangin' right on his quarter, while the very last boss 

of 'em all 
Was that long-stridin' bay o' Bob Aiken's, the pride o' my stable, 

that Saul. 

They was gone from sight in a moment, an' we heard but the 

hurry in' hoofs 
That kept on a-makin' sweet music, like the sound o" the rain on 

the roofs. 
Down the backstretch, a ghostly procession, they sped through 

the mist an' the rain; 
Then they circled the turn and were nearing the wire an' the 

orand stand aQ-ain. 

First I heard a faint cheer in the distance that came from the stables, 
I knew. 

Then they cried out. " The favorite 's beaten ! " "Go on there, 
vou coon, with True Blue ! " 

Then out from the fog, like an arrow — by Jove, he was leadin' 
'em all — 

Emerged the white face o* Bob Aiken, who was ridin' my long- 
stridin' Saul. 



Tlie Deacon's J Purchase. 105 

Coming' on steady as clock-work, he won Ijy two Icjngths at the 

stand, 
But the jockey made never a movement; he stirred not a foot or 

a hand. 
When the hoss, stopping up on the turn, sir, came back to the 

weighing-out place, 
Little Aiken sat lookin' afore him with a mark as o' death on his 

face. 

I spoke, but he answered m(; not, sir; then I touched him an', 
"Judges," I said, 

" Must I weigh in the corpse ? For the jockey that rode Saul, the 
winner, is d(;ad ! " 

"Aye, aye," com(! the sorrowful answer; so we weighed him an' 
found it all right. 

There the game lad lay dead, an' me richer by ten thousand dol- 
lars that night. 



THE DEACON'S PURCHASE. 

The Deacon sat down in his easy-chair. 

" Good wife," said he, " I have been to town, 
Where the people are holding the county fair. 

And I went to see it with Deacon lirown. 
There were peaches there as big as your head. 
And apples, rosy and round and red; 
But the nicest thing of 'em all to me 
Was a big bay mare that I chanced to see. 

" But she were a beauty, and no mistake. 

And she stood, I reckon, full sixteen hands; 
She trotted her heats with never a break, 

An' turned at a touch o' the driver's hands. 
An' I say, good wife, you needn't be cross, 
But I out with the dust, an' bought that hoss, 



Io6 Ta/cs of the Turf. 

And now, g'oing- to church or coming- home, 
W'c '11 take no dust, for avc '11 travel alone." 

" Now, Lor' sakes ! " said the good old wife; " but. my \ 
The Deacon 's crazy, and no mistake." 

And she uttered a long-drawn, heartfelt sigh. 
As she thought of Methodist rules he 'd break 

W\ going to church at a break-neck speed. 

And driving a trotter — awful deed. 

She fancied herself on the anxious seat 

Of his one-hoss shay in the crowded street. 

When the Sunday came it was warm and bright. 
And the Deacon hitched up his big bay mare„ 
And lifted his wife to the seat as light 

As a cavalier — while she breathixl a prayer. 
Then hurried away tlown thc^ village street, 
While his wife held on to the anxious seat; 
And the people stood on the walk to stare 
As he hurried past with his big bay mare. 

The parson attempted to drive 'longside 

With his sorrel mare and his one-hoss shay. 
A touch of the whip, and the parson's pride 

Was left in the distance far awa)'. 
The livery man with his brand-new rig 
Was left in the shade by the Deacon's gig, 
And even the good wife smiled in church 
As she thouoht how all were left in the lurch. 




I low Wild Rose Won the Clip. 107 

HOW WILD ROSE WON TIfi: CUP. 

A TuAiNKk's Story. 

You have heard, I suppose, of a mare called Wild Rose, 
That was bred at lielle Meade, down in old Tennessee; 

How she ruined youn^- lirown once hy Ix.-aLino- 'I'he Clown 
And a lujst of L;'ood horses when ridden by me. 

What ! You ain't? On my word, now, tliat 's really absurd,. 

For that race made a wonderful stir in its day. 
On an old Southern course it was run, and lots worse 

Have I seen since I flung my old jacket away. 

'T was a long time ago, ere the frost and the snow 

Had both sifted and drifted deep into my hair. 
I was riding for Gray, whom I 've often heard say: 
" He can ride like the devil when chased by a prayer." 

'T was a race for thci cu[), and you bet up and up. 

With five hundred a corner to enter and run. 
There was Giles' Mickey Free and \\\\\ IJird's ikisy Bee, 

Jimmy Adams' mare Nance and Tom Ikirton's Gray Nun. 

There was Featherly's Kate, and a horse called th(* Mate, 
That was brought up from Texas on purpose to start; 

Then that bay horse The Clown, that belonged to Jim P)rovvn, 
And a gray from Kaintuck that was known as The- Dart. 

To these eight at the post add Wild Rose and The Ghost — 
The latter a slashing big black, owned by Marr, 

With a mane and a tail like a lady's cr(;p(j veil, 
And a little wliite spot on his facci like a star. 

My instructions were few: "Just look out for tliosr; two," 

Said old Gray, and he mentioned The C^host and Tlie Clown.. 
" If the pace ain't too strong let the mar(; rate; along; 
Then come on at the finish, and cut them all down." 



io8 7\j/cs of the finf. 

"That 's all rii^lit, sir," I said, as 1 nocklod my head; 

Then I saw the llao^ fall, and the race had beoun. 
We were all \\<A\ abreast — tluui^^h jusi K\ulin^- the rest 

!>)■ a scant head and shoulders was lUirlon's Ciray Nun. 

'T was an olddashioiied ilash of four miles for \\\c cash, 
Aiul the pace was a burster — too fast from the start; 

So I took the mare back as she strode o'er the track, 
Till I fouiul m\self eio-hth and aloiv^side The Hart. 

When tlu^ lu-st mile was doiu> we had settled Clray Nun, 
While Nance, too, was in trouble, and so was The Mate. 

Busy Bee with Youno- France was now leadinor the dance, 
And rio-ht up to his throatdatch was Featherly's Kate. 

When two miles had been passed the Gray Nun boys were last. 

Antl 't was Fi\itherly's Kate showed the way by the post, 
Whilc^ next to her The Dart, runnin;^- stronof as at start, 

Showed just barely a throatdatch in front of The Ghost. 

in tlu> next half we ran racinL;- really bemoan, 

And back into the ruck there dropped I'eatherly's Kate, 

While that L^ray horse, I'he Part, showiul a touch (^\ faint heart. 
And oKl Wild Rose was oajuinL;" as steady as fate. 

As we dashed b)' thi> stand the wild notes i^f a band 
Floated laint to my ears as The Ghost led the way, 

WhiU' the patter of hoofs, lik(^ the rain o\\ the roofs. 
Woke the echt^es heartl after for many a da)-. 

As we raced 'round the turn I could scarcely discern 
The low stables that seemed to sail by on the wind. 

ihit. half turniniL^- my lu^ad as still onwartl we sped, 
I saw The Clown comin^' u[) swift from behind. 

We'd a cpiarter tt> i;\\ and we rocked to and Iro. 

With The Clown at my throatdatch and 1 at Idle Ghost's, 



The /liters Bit. \ \ \ 

Whil(t tin- wliilc (leeks of ((>am llial swifl backwards were hlowr, 
'W) my fancy seemed Inibhles hhnvn Ijack at the jM^sts. 

'J'he (jlu)st faltered a hit lie. was too ^'■ame to (jiiit, 
And old Wild l\os(; was showing- the way Ijy a nose. 

Then 1 l>r(niglit my whip down, and she shook off The Clown 
As before me the stand and the judg(;s arose. 

Good (jrod ! ilow she'd reel as I gave her the ste(;l ! 
"The Ghost wins! 'Idie Ghost !" echoed over th(' track. 
J'wo red nostrils (lashed (u'e. as 1 tiirnrtd in my ire-, 
And there cfjming again was that clemon the black. 

It was rock; it was reel, it was whip, it was steel, 

As first one, then the other, woiihl show in arlvance. 

•Gh! my blood seemed on fire as we swept 'neath the wire — 
Had The Ghost or Wild Kosf; Hnishef] first in tlie dance? 

When I rode back to weigh in the sunshine that day, 
1 was gn^eted Ijy d(;afening cheers from the stand, 

\h)x " Wild R(js(; by a nose ! " was the verdict of those 
Wlio could se(.', and 1 f(dt like a king in the land. 



riib: p>iTi^:ks wvw 

A I'.AI.I.AH Ol' I'.KI'JII'roN I'.I'ACK. 

At lirighton, by the ocean deejj, 

l>eside the sandy track. 
At sunset on a summer's day, 
Two trainers close together lay, 
The green grass at their back. 

The sunbf;ams danced among the leaves 

Like fairies shod with light. 
And over by the stabh; df;or 
There st(;od a dozen steeds (jr more — 

It was a goodly sight. 



I I 



7'a/rs of the l^iirf. 

' 1 say. |()hii." (|ii()lh the yoiiULI'cr man, 

With lauL;hl(M- in his t'\ cs, 
" 1 '11 ha\(' Icnisalnn pull the mari', 
'I'lu'ii yt>ii <:iii will with Captain Clare; 
Ihc i)ul)lic we 11 surpi'isi\" 

"All rii;lU, Hill," answered hark his iViriul 
" I think that sriicnu- wil! _^(\ 
The niaic'll Ix' l.ivoritc, ol conrsi*, 
And I '11 jump in and hack the lu>rsc\ 
While \ (Ml can just \a\ low. ' 







"k. 



Thi'y slu>ok hands o'er the iHMupai't made 

'riuMi whisllini; walked away. 
Nor dreamed that late could ha\-e in stort 
A thiiiL; that should surprise them more 

Than an\- sihmi th.it da\'. 



Nc^xt da\-. amon^; the thorouL;lihri\ls 

That laced tlu> starter's Hao-. 
Conspicuous was a hi^" ha\' mar(\ 
And ri^jht lu-side lua* C\iptain Clare, 
And nt>\t .1 sorrel nai:. 



T/ic Biters Bit. 

The flai^ went down. They jumped away, 

The Captain in the van. 
The bay mare couldn't run a yard, 
Jerusalem held her hack so hard, 

lUit, Lord ! the sorrel ran. 

They circle round the sandy track; 

They Ve passed the half, and still 
The sorrel 's at the Captain's o-irtli ! 
John's eyes have lost their look of mirtli. 

And William, too, is still. 



Ho ! Clear the track ! They 're c(jmin_o- home; 

Great Scott ! is that a ghost .^ 
liy heavens ! it 's the sorrel mare, 
A neck ahead of Captain Clare; 

She's nipped him on the post. 

At Brio-hton, by the ocean deep, 

Beside; a sandy track, 
Two trainers cursed, as trainers will 
Who 've lost their wealth; then all was still. 

The (rrecn grass at their back. 

The moral of my tah; is jjlain: 

Dishonesty don't pay; 
One better have the best horse win 
Than let a rank outsider in 

To steal the purse away. 



i'3 




114 Ta/cs of t/ic Turf. 

IN MEMORIAM. 

(Dan Maik, Dik.d 1SS5.) 

*' I 'm trottino- \w\ last L^roat race." he said, 
This wrinkled (.li'i\-er with locks oi yray. 
As Death drew level, and head and head 

They swept t'ward the finish not far away. 
Then he faintly smiled as the watchers bent 

To catch from liis li[)s his last desire, 
And he said, with a look oi calm contcMit. 
"I 'm g-cttino- close to the judo-cs' wire." 

Who knows of this driver's death-bed dreams ? 

Did he drive his races o'er ao-ain ? 
Did his thoughts g-Q back to the thrilling scenes 

Of the track, from dying bed of pain .'* 
Did he hear again the madd'ning cheers 

Of the crowd as he urged the gallant gray 
To the wagon record that stood for years, 

And that stands b\- Time untouched to-dav? 



The\- have laid him away in his last great sleep, 

In a narrow bed ot the sexton's make, 
Init at the last, when the shaciows creep. 

At the sounci of the judges' bell he '11 wake. 
And there we trust at the judges' stand 

He '11 be awarded a better place 
Than ever even in thought he 'd planned. 

As he drove a horse in a waitino' race. 




Bride of Mo7ttgomery. 



1^5 




[ _.;^^.. -lyt/'^fffev 



OF MONT(;OMERY 







1 reckon you fellows know lirich; — Ini Ji. liride, of Mont.i^romery. 
hollered the horses for years, an' l)in selhn' pools on the circuit; 
Wears a plain suito' blue j(;ans made down in Attakapas* Parish; 
Cut on the bias an' ^^ored, then tied like a sack in the middle. 



Pronounced 'I'lickapaw. 



ii6 Ta/cs of the Turf. 

Queer sort o' fellow Is Bride, jolly, rotund an' g-ood-natured; 
Fond o' his mint-juleps, too, an' amig-hty tine judge o' good eatin'; 
Knows all the horsemen by sight, an' the horses 'way back to Gray 

Eagle; 
Claims that his suit is hand-made by the fellow that one time 

owned Lightnin'. 

Eno-lish he is to the core, an' so, when the snows o' the winter 
Fall to the bosom o' earth, wings he his way to the southard, 
Down where the orange trees bloom, an' thar, 'neath the snowy 

magnolias, 
Sips he mint-juleps again an' laughs at the winds o' December. 

Takes he the world as it comes. Lets to-morrow take care of 

to-morrow; 
Never bets nothin' himself on the races — that 's nothin' to speak of; 
Keeps his eyes open for jobs. If he sees 'em he doesn't say 

nothin', 
Just pockets his litde per cent, for holdin' the money o' others. 

Fond he is, too, o' the girls, an' the glimpse o* a neatly turned 

ankle 
Will bring the light into his eyes an' set his great heart 

a-jumpin', 
'Till the sound o' its beats can be heard like the sound o' a 

mighty trip-hammer, 
Wakin' the echoes at dawn when the iron hisses white on the 

anvil. 

'Twas at Memphis one night in the fall, an', thepool-sellin' bein' 

all over, 
Bride stood just outside the hotel, when there tugged at his elbow 

a stranger 
Who had a sure thing for next day, the surest yet seen on the 

circuit — 
A horse that could win in a walk, an' he wanted old Ira to play it. 



Bride of Montgomery. 1 1 7 

Bride listened in peace to his talc, an' then, givin' a hitch to his 

lilue-jeans, 
He pulled out his briar-wood pipe, an', fillin' it up with tobacco. 
Scratched coolly a lucifer match in a calm, thoughtful way on his 

breeches; 
Then blew out a great cloud o' smoke an' told him he 'd put 

on the money. 

Next day, when the sellin' began. Bride boomed the dark hoss 

with his money. 
Knocked down to himself every pool till he stood to win four or 

five thousand; 
Then stood with his glasses in hand, like Ajax defyin' the lightnin', 
An' watched, in a manner intent, every jump that was made by 

the bosses. 

The dark hoss that Ira had backed on the word an' advice o' the 
stranger 

Led his field for two-thirds o' the route, an' then doubled up like 
a jack-knife, 

Stopped right at the head o' the stretch like he had been struck 
by a cyclone. 

An' faded away to the rear like a shadow that 's lost in the sun- 
light. 

Bride, cussin' himself for a fool, took a hack and drove back to 

the city, 
Belted 'round him his coat o' blue-jeans that was made down in 

Attakapas Parish, 
Drank a dozen mint-juleps or so, then started to hunt up the 

stranger; 
But the stranger had vanished an' gone, an' so had the money o' 

Ira. 

That 's the reason that Bride doesn't bet, but leaves pickin' win- 
ners to others; 



ii8 Talcs of the Turf. 

Rests content with his Httlc [)cr cent, for holdin' the money o' 

strangers; 
Takes sug-ar an' mint-leaves in his. an' sits with his eye on the 

crossin's, 
Resplendent in suilo' blue-jeans made down in Attakapas Parish. 



LITTLF. SUNSHINE AND BONNIE GRACE. 

'T was nioah dan twenty yeahs ag;o. 

De white maL;iu)lia trees 
War loc^kin' like L^reat heaps ob snow, 

A-driftin' in de breeze; 
De roses in de (golden lii^ht 

War brc\d<.in' inter bloom; 
De lilies in de sunshine bright 

Hent down to welcome June. 

Dar came to de c^Ul Cap'ain's place, 

From far-off Nordern town, 
A o-al wif sunshine in her face 

An' liar ob oolden brown. 
Her nunif were like a rosebud red, 

Half-hidden in tie snow, 
An' when she shook her curU' hc^id 

De sunbeams fell below 

Her dimpled shouKlahs, marble white, 

An' ctMled wyow her breas' 
Like birds dat IkuI L;-ro\vn tiahed ob tlio-ht 

An' foun' at las' tleir nes'. 
Her voice was like de ^ix^Klen bell 

Dal rinL;"s in heaben's street; 
Her blue eyes seemed to cast a spell 

On all she chanced to meet. 



Little Sunshine and Bonnie Grace. 119 

She war mi*j;-hty Ton' oh horses, 

And would ofen come to me 
Fo' to talk about de crosses 

In some famous pedigree; 
But de hoss dat mos' she 'd fancy 

War a mare called Honnie Grace, 
By ole Rebel, out ob Nancy, 

An' de pride ob all de place. 

Bonnie Grace, too, larned to liib her,, 

An' one ni^^ht de Cap'ain said, 
As he sof'ly bent above her, 

Wid his hand upon her head: 
' Little Sunshine, fo' de shadows 

Dat you banished from de place 
When you came across de meadows,, 

I will gib you Bonnie Grace." 

June went driftin' down de ril)er. 

On de boat o' Fader Time. 
Summah days don' las' fo'eber — 

Wintah waits jes' down the line.. 
As de mont's went troopin' aftah. 

An' den vanished, one by one, 
Little Sunshine's ripplin' lau^'litah 

Still made music in de sun. 

Den, at las', a shadow fallin 

Settled on de deah ole home,. 
An' de angels 'gan deir callin' 

Little Sunshine fo' to come. 
Den she faded as the day-time 

Fades along de wes'ern sky, 
As the violets do in May-time, 

When dey widder up an' die. 



I20 



Talcs of tJic Turf. 

'Pears dat Bonnie Grace war missin' 

Little Sunshine mo' clan all; 
She would Stan' fo' hours an listen 

In de clover for her call, 
Wait until de darkness roun' her 

Fell a black an' sable cloak — 
Till I sen' a man to fin' her, 

Lock her up in walls ob oak. 



% 




miS^smmali 



" Fouti' Jur dead, her head n-restiii^ 
On po' Little Siiiis/iiiie\' gra/>e.'''' 

Def came in de mild September, 

Sen' darby de King ob kings; 
Pears to me I mos' remember 

Little Sunshine's takino- wines. 
Angels opened wide de ])o'tals 

Fo' to let deir sistah in, 
Whar de feet ob de immo'tals 

Res' fo'eber free from sin. 



Lexinotoii: A Fragment, 121 

She war buried by de riber 

Whar de tangled grasses grow, 
Whar de white magnoHas eber 

Blossom out in drif's ob snow. 
Bonnie Grace dat night war missin', 

But de light dat mawnin' gabe 
Foun' her dead, her head a-restin' 

On po' Little Sunshine's grabe. 



LEXINGTON: A FRAGMENT. 

I 've a picture, time-discolored, hanging on my chamber wall, 
Taken from an old oil-painting that to memory will recall 

Years from now the ancient legends of those races run of old, 
When the winters were of silver and the summer-times of gold, 

On a race-track in the southlands, where those Hying feet once 

trod, 
That has blossomed out in gravestones, that has rippled up in sod. 

And a marble shaft uprisen casts its shadow o'er the land, 
Where in summers long forgotten once there stood the judges' 
stand. 

Where the cypress boughs are weeping as they bend above the 

dead, 
And the roses bud and blossom, dust to dust again is wed. 

And the cry of stricken mourners that is muffled up in tears 
Sadly sweeps along the greensward that once echoed back the 
cheers 

Of an eager crowd that, waiting, in the shadow and the sun, 
Hailed the mighty son of Boston, the immortal Lexington. 



122 Tales of the Turf. 

'T is a picture of a stallion, standing- where the robins call, 
'Neath an ivy vine that clambers o'er a ruined grarden wall. 

And the tendrils overhanging- almost fall upon his back, 
And I fancy he is list'ning- for the music of the track. 

With his blaze face and white stocking-s, as he stands there in 

the sun, 
Looks he like some mighty monarch dreaming o'er his battles 

won. 

Blind, he peers about, but sees not. Now and then he pricks his 

ears, 
List'ning for the judges' summons, waiting vainly for the cheers 

That were wont of old to greet him when he trod the track a 

king. 
When men met and told each other of his greatness in the ring. 

Lord and master of the harem, in his paddock all alone. 
Sighs he for new worlds to conquer ? Dreams he of another 
throne ? 

O'er a little mound at Woodburn drifts in winter-time the snow, 
And the blossoms fall upon it when the summer breezes blow. 

There the hero blind is sleeping, but his mem'ry lives, to-day, 
Ever in the hearts of turfmen, fresh as hawthorn buds in May. 

Sire was he of horses fleeter than the Arab barbs of old 

That were counted in the desert worth their weight in virgin gold. 

Whispers fly about the race-tracks when some mighty deed is 

done: 
"'Tis no more than we expected from the blood of Lexington ! " 



McCarthy s Plug Hat. 

McCarthy's plug hat. 



12 



(Chicago, 18S7.) 

Of all the queer sights that a mortal has seen 

Since fairies first gamboled and played on the green, 

And rode the black crickets about in their mirth, 

When the night dropped its black velvet mantle to earth,, 

To the stage coach they drove in my grandfather's days, 

That tumbled and lurched o'er the corduroy ways — 

The strangest of all, seen in palace or flat. 

Was worn by McCarthy, and called a plug hat. 




" It looms up like a light-hoitse seen through a foi^y 

The name of its maker the Lord only knows; 
Its trials and troubles, its sorrows and woes. 
Have so changed its appearance, McCarthy himself 
Has forgotten its looks when it lay on the shelf. 
It might have been white in some far-away day; 
It might have been yellow, slate-colored or gray; 
It might have been striped and streaked like a cat; 
It's a queer combination — McCarthy's plug hat. 



124 Talcs of the Turf. 

It looms up like a light-house seen through a fog; 
It resembles a wart that has grown on a log. 
If a knight of St. Patrick could borrow that tile 
To wear on parade, how tlie lasses would smile. 
The smoke and the dust that have rolled o'er its rim 
Have left it discolored from crown down to brim. 
It might have been purchased at Poverty Flat, 
So out of all fashion 's McCarthy's plug hat. 

AVhenever McCarthy appears on the track, 
He's a crowd of admirers that stand at his back. 
In open-eyed wonder they look and the)- smile. 
As they take in the shape of his queer-looking tile; 
And even the steed that goes hurrying by 
Gives a whinny of mirth as it catches his e^-e. 
For nothing so strange, in palace or flat, 
Has ever been seen as McCartliy's plug hat. 



THE TOUT'S STORY. 

Well, yes, you are right, sir — I am a tout — 
Been around among horses all my life, 

And been kicked, sir, and cuffed, and knocked about 
Like a shuttlecock, in this world o' strife. 

Have I made any money ? Yes, sir, some. 
And I made it, too, in an honest wa}-. 

It was out o' the books it had to come. 

Though they got the most o' it back next day. 

No, I haven't got any now, you 're right; 

But then life is full o' these ups and downs: 
For Dame Fortune will sweetly smile one night. 

Then perhaps the very next day she frowns. 



The Tout's Story. 125 

I thought, sir, that Belle o' the West would win; 

She ran a good second the other day. 
This time she was really the last horse in. 

It 's funny, sir, ain't it? But that 's their way. 

Horses, you know, are most uncertain things — 
There 's no one can tell just what they will do; 

Yet racing, they say. is " the sport o' kings," 
And I think for that very reason too. 

For only a king, so it seems to me. 

With the wealth of a kingdom at his back, 
Can afford to plunge on the racers. See ? 

They '11 cripple him then ere he leaves the track. 

How do I fancy the life of a tout ? 

Well, sometimes I like it, and sometimes not. 
We float with the tide and we drift about. 

Till we settle down in a graveyard lot. 

In summer the life is not hard at all. 

We can sleep out-doors in the tangled grass. 
While the whip-poor-wills sweet all 'round us call, 

And the shadows o' night-time come and pass. 

I '11 warrant you, sir, on the dew-wet ground^ 
With a star-gemmed blanket over my head, 

I can sleep as peacefully and as sound 
As can you at home in your downy bed. 

But, sir, in the winter-time, when the snow 

Drifts high and eddies about in the street, 
It 's hard on a chap with no place to go 

And half o' the time not enough to eat. 

Then we see strange things in our travels, too. 
The owners fool us whenever they can. 



,126 Tales of the Turf. 

Here 's a little yarn that I '11 spin to you, 
For they tell me you are a writing- man. 

It concerns the Derby, four years ago, 

That the folks all thought that Miss Ford would win. 
I 'd been nosing 'round, and I thought somehow 

There were stable secrets I might get in. 

P^or those chaps that came from the Golden State 
Had a string o' horses, and all well-bred. 

That they 'd win the Derby as sure as fate 
Was the strange idea that entered my head. 

What they could win with I didn't then know — 
They hadn't run anything up to that date. 

They Ve something good, sir, wherever they go, 
And I made up my mind to watch and wait. 

At last I settled the thing in my mind 

That a chestnut colt was the one they 'd run, 

And I tried to think of a way to find 

Out just how good was the work that he 'd done. 

About his stable I managed to lurk 

From the early dawn till the sun had set, 

But never a sign could I see of work. 

Save the long slow gallops the colt would get. 

Then one night a thought crept into my mind: 
There 's no use getting up with the lark: 

If it 's the public they 're trying to blind. 

They '11 send that chestnut along in the dark. 

So that same night, sir, I made me a bed 

In the long, deep grass near the timer's stand. 

And there, with the stars shining bright o'erhead, 
I was lulled to sleep by a cricket band. 



The Touf s Story. 127 

It must have been about two in the morn 

That something- woke me. It might have been Fateo 

I looked for a day that was yet unborn, 
And I heard the cHck o' the stable gate. 

Then I saw some shadowy forms appear 

On the dusty track at the farther end 
O' the stretch, and, crouching down in my fear, 

I watched them slow circle around the bend. 

As nearer they came I could just make out 

A colt that was mostly hidden from sight 
By a blanket, while they led him about. 

Making up their plans for a moonlight flight. 

At each quarter pole they posted a man, 

With his lantern alight to wave in air. 
When the colt that they tried on past him ran 

To signal the fact to the timers there. 

Then the colt was galloped and well cooled out; 

The last instructions were given the jock, 
To break away at a point on the route 

They had marked for him with a piece o' rock. 

Next I heard the sound o' his flying feet 

As he broke away, and a swincrine licrht 
On the stable-turn, where the shadows meet, 

Told me that the chestnut was full in flight. 

The mile was done, and still faster he flew. 

His rattling hoofs, like the sound of a drum. 
Shook off from the blades o' the orass the dew 

And left them dry to burn up in the sun. 

He finished flying, sir, right at the stand. 
And I, listening, heard an old man say: 



128 Talcs of the Ttirf. 

" There 's not a race-horse in all the land 
That 's fitter than he for a Derby play." 

They never knew, sir, not one o' the crowd, 
A tout lay listening there in the grass; 

Else they would never have spoken so loud 
O' their future plans — but we '11 let that pass. 

Sufficient to say that I learned the name 

O' the chestnut colt and the time he 'd made. 

They 've written it now on the walls o' Fame. 
A winner from memory ne'er will fade. 

Then I hunted up a man that I knew, 
A regular hummer, sir, he for style, 

Who would bet o' money enough for two, 

And I told him the tale o' that moonlieht tri'l. 



't>' 



You remember well how the race turned out; 

How the chestnut colt, at "thirty to one," 
Just beat Miss Ford by a nose. No doubt 

You were there yourself, sir, and saw the fun. 

That night when my friend divided with me 
The amount that he 'd won on Todd that day, 

I 'd three thousand dollars; so you can see 
It looked like things were a-coming my way. 

Then I went to plunging on every race; 

That I could beat them I 'd never a doubt. 
So I backed my favorites straight and place, 

And in just four days they had cleaned me out. 

Since then I 've been living from hand to mouth; 

Many a time I 've gone hungry to bed. 
And I 've slept out-doors in the sunny south 

'Neath a big blue blanket the Lord had spread. 



Buds of spring. 129 

What ? How will it end ? Well, God only knows. 

In a nameless grave, though, like as not. 
What difference, then, sir, whether it snows. 

Or whether the sunbeams are burning hot ? 

You are going, are you ? Ah, well, good night. 

If there 's anything good I '11 come to you. 
You look like a chap as would treat one right. 

That tale about Todd and his trial is true. 



BUDS OF SPRING. 

Bold, blustering March, with bated breath, 
Steals quickly through the woods away. 

And with him go the chills of death, 
That fade before the perfect day, 

While, half in laughter, half in tears. 

Comes April with its sun and showers — 

A maiden full of hopes and fears. 

Whose footsteps wake the sleeping flowers. 

The maples bud and blow in leaves; 

The bare brown fields are turned to green; 
The wheat gives promise of the sheaves 

That later in the year are seen. 

The grand old broodmare looks with pride, 
The while she hears the robins sing, 

Down at the two foals at her side — 
Her coming flyers — Buds of Spring. 




• Hl}- coDiiiig flyers — Buds of Spring." 



IT. 
RANK outsiders; 



*'RANK OUTSIDERS." 



THE OLD MAN AND THE FAST MAIL. 

Young man, I am tired and weary, and I '11 borrow your chair 

awhile, 
To sit by your office window, where the golden sunbeams smile; 
For I 've driven from home since morning, although I am old and 

gray, 
To see Uncle Sam's pet hobby, the Fast White Mail, to-day. 

How time keeps a-ringing his changes ! It ain't many years ago 
Since I traveled this same road, youngster, in a stage coach old 

and slow. 
There wasn't a sign of a railroad, nor a telegraph pole in sight, 
And the earth lay asleep in a mantle of snow-flakes pure and 

white. 

A little log cabin, yonder, peeped out at the edge of the wood, 
Like the face of a nut-brown maiden from under her snow-white 

hood, 
And there we unhitched our horses, in the twilight cold and gray. 
To rest from our weary journey till the dawn of another day. 

I came here again the next summer, when meadows with grass 

were green, 
When birds were at play in the oak trees, and fish asleep in 

the stream, 
And I built, in a little clearing 'way yonder over the hill, 
A cabin of logs and brushwood; and, stranger, I live there still. 



134 



''Rank Outsiders. 



But the cabin of logs has vanished. There stands in its place 

to-day 
A mansion of brick and granite, while over across the way 
My lad has built him a cottage — a cottage he calls his own, 
That discounts the big brick mansion where the old man isn't at 

home. 




" T/iey didn't think that the sta^q-e coach -was luniherin'' , old and slowy 

For old dogs don't learn new habits, and an old man's hard to 

please; 
It 's not easy to rest from labor when one isn't used to ease. 
Yet I don't know as I 'd be willin' to toil in the fields again, 
A-workin' for paper dollars and a-killin' both heart and brain. 

Once a week we got our mails then. Folks wa' n't in a hurry to 

go. 
They didn't think that the stage coach was lumberin', old and 

slow; 
You couldn't have made us believe it, if you 'd argued an hour 

or more, 
They 'd be carryin' mails by steam power an' throwin' em off at 

the door. 



The Old Mail mid the Fast Mail. 137 

Now cars run over their road-beds with the speed of a gust of 

wind; 
They 've left the lumberin' stage coach and the old-fashioned 

ways behind, 
And they tell me to lands far westward, where the eagle has left 

its trail. 
Uncle Sam is sendin' 'em letters by way of a Fast White Mail. 

Well, times are a-changin' surely. One is never too old to learn. 
Though there may be flaws in the marble my old eyes can't 

discern; 
Yet I 'm tired o' the deacon's croakin'. I wish he 'dgive us a rest. 
God's runnin' this world, I reckon, and He doeth what seems the 

best. 

So I ve driven from home since mornin', although I am old and 

gray, 
To see Uncle Sam's pet hobby, the Fast White Mail, to-day. 
In twenty-six hours, they tell me, — and it beats an old man like 

me, — 
They 're readin' the New York papers in the Queen of the Inland 

Sea. 

Now I '11 move my arm-chair, youngster, and sit where the bright 

sun smiles. 
Till I hear on the curve down yonder the whistle of old John 

Miles; 
For they tell me he runs an engine on the Fast White Mail 

to-day, 
And he runs like a reckless fellow if his hair is turnin' gray. 

The old man sat by the window till we saw o'er the curve below 
The smoke from the coming engine like the wings of a great black 

crow. 
Then he crept with a gait unsteady out o'er the office floor. 
And stood like a statue, watching the train from the open door. 



138 ''Rank Outsiders^ 

It came like a great white arrow, tipped with a barb of steel, 
Spurning the road beneath it with the touch of its iron-shod wheel; 
Catching the mail while passing, with a demon's outstretched 

hand, 
To be scattered in showers of blessings afar o'er a peaceful land. 

Old Miles, with his hand on the lever, looked out as he passed 

the door, 
Looked out at the sunbeams stealing swift clear down to the lake's 

green shore. 
Then pulled the throttle wide open and seemed with his air to say, 
" Uncle Sam, I could beat the lightning with your Fast White Mail 

to-day." 

The old man looked in wonder as they caught the mail below. 
"Aye, times are fast," he muttered, "for that idee ain't slow." 
And then, as away it vanished, with a flash like a comet's tail. 
He said, " Old Time, you 're euchred by steam and a Fast White 
Mail." 



AN OUTCAST'S STORY. 

(T01.D Beneath a Chandelier.) 

Why tell you my story ? What good will it do } 
The tale of an outcast won't interest you. 
Well, if you insist, sir, my name here is Rose — 
Of course, not my real name, as every one knows. 
And I 'm just twenty-three, but was never a wife; 
Yet since I was eighteen I 've followed this life. 
God knows, if I could, I would leave it to-day. 
Why don't I ? Ah, sir, you don't know what you say. 
But here ! draw your chair, sir, up closer to mine. 
Yes, thank you, I will; for this generous wine 
Serves to make me forget I once might have been 
A proud, happy wife — not the plaything of men. 



An Outcast's Story. 13Q, 

The die has been cast. 'T is too late to recall 
The love and respect that I lost by my fall. 
Remember this, sir: that a man was to blame 
For my sin and sorrow — my fall and my shame. 

In a little country villag-e, 

Where the apple-blossoms turn 
Pink and white in early springtime, 

And where the red sumachs burn 
In the golden days of autumn. 

Like to torch-lights on the wall, 
Lived a simple country maiden. 

Loved and petted, sir, by all. 

Around the cottage where she lived 

Climbed the roses, white and red, 
And the birds among the maples 

Laughed and chattered overhead. 
Naught knew she of care and trouble; 

Sang she gaily all day long. 
While the robins seemed to listen 

And to echo back her song. 

Pride was she of all the village, 
And her father, old and gray, 
Loved her as he loved the sunshine 

Drifting o'er his darkened way; 
While her mother, old and feeble, 

Fairly worshiped at her shrine. 
Prayed that God would bless and keep her,, 
In that far-off happy time. 

Grew the girl in grace and beauty, 

As the years crept swiftly by. 
To her cheek there crept the roses, 

And the violets to her eye. 



140 ''Rank Outsiders^ 

White and full the throbbing bosom 
That beneath her bodice lay; 

Arms as round as ever sculptor 
Modeled fanciful in clay. 

Suitors plenty came to woo her, 

But to none she gave her heart; 
Dreamed she of a prince, who, coming, 

Of her life should be a part. 
Once somewhere she 'd read the story 

Of a king who long ago 
Wooed a beggar maid and won her. 

Might a prince not woo her so? 

Came a young man to the village 
From the city far away — 

Came to dream there in the sunshine, 
While the reapers made their hay. 

Wooed with tender words the maiden, 
Wooed her as a prince might woo; 

Hand in hand they walked together 
In the starlight and the dew. 

Then one night, when all were sleeping 

In the village, 'neath the stars. 
Stole the maiden forth to meet him 

By the lonely meadow bars. 
Where a carriage stood in waiting. 

Not until the early dawn 
Did the broken- hearted old folks 

Know their pet and pride had gone. 

How I loved him none will know, sir — 

God help me, I love him still, 
Though he robbed my life of sunshine — 
Thoucfh he worked me nauofht but ill. 



Alt Outcast's Story. 141 

Fled we to a distant city, 

Where at last my babe was born, — 
Dead, for which I thanked the Savior, — 
For he left me that same morn. 

Back to life I somehow drifted, 

Though I often prayed to die, 
While there passed my life before me 

Like a shadow flitting- by. 
Work I sought, but none would give it: 

I had left the narrow lane 
For the highway broad of pleasure, 

And it ended in my shame. 

So one nighty when weak and famished 

Bidden by the tempter's spell. 
Entered I the stately portals 

Of King Pleasure's gilded hell. 
Many men here join our revels, 

Stopping not to count the cost. 
Leaving, still they 're social lions. 

But the woman, sir, is lost. 

There, sir, is my story. God pity the maid 

Who falls as I fell, for the price that I paid 

Was my peace on earth. Oft I dream when alone 

Of the roses that blossom about my old home. 

I cry out to Death from the depths of despair; 

I 'd pray if I thought Christ would answer my prayer. — 

Excuse mC; you come here for pleasure, and I — 

I '11 try and laugh now, so you '11 think it a lie. 




ii42 ''Rank Outsiders." 

BILLY BROWN OF KOKOMO. 

There lived down in Indiana, in a little country town, 

Years ag"o, a slick young- fellow that the boys called Billy Brown. 

He was captain of a base ball team and good at any game, 

But his skill at playing billiards was what gave him all his fame. 

He had first begun to practice with the cue when quite a lad, 
And his love of playing billiards often made the old man sad. 
He soon cauorht the trick of nursin"-, and would lead them up the 

rail 
As though they were but tiny ships being blown before the gale. 

One by one the boys were beaten ; one by one the men went down, 
And in time the youngster blossomed out as champion of the 

town. 
All the drummers learned to know him, and to know him to theii 

cost. 
Billy played them all for money, and the drummers always lost. 

Then he practiced cushion caroms, learned the balk-line game 

to play, 
And his head kept ever swelling, swelling, swelling, day by day. 
Sighed he for new worlds to conquer, that should add unto his 

fame. 
Traveling men no longer played him: they had tumbled to his 

game. 

" Boys, I 'm going to Chicago," Billy said one night in fall, 
" To the city by the lakeside, and I guess I '11 beat them all. 
Schaefer may be quite a player, but I 've got my stroke, you see, 
And he '11 think he 's struck a cyclone when he gets to playing 
me." 

"Twas one cold night in November, when the streets were 

wrapped in gloom. 
That a group of billiard players idly sat in Schaefer's roomo 




" Still fr 0711 Sckae/er's magic ctie 
One by one the points kept dropping, as at twilight drops the dew." 



Billy Brown of Kokomo. 145 

Swung the door upon its hinges, and there entered Billy Brown, 
Laid a hundred on the table, with a challenge to the town. 

Silence fell upon the players, as the night upon the deep, 

For the stranger's nerve, like Carter's, nearly put them all to 

sleep. 
But, at last, a little German said, in accents halt and lame, 
"Veil, I blays you for dot hundert, ef you blay der four-ball 

game." 

"I 'm not playing now with infants," Billy answered with a smile, 
Never dreaming 't was the Wizard he was talking to the while. 
"Play two hundred points at balk-line for this hundred-dollar 

bill." 
Jacob scratched his head a moment; then he answered, "Veil, 

I vill." 

Shook the listeners' sides with laughter, as they gathered 'round 

the pair. 
Caught Brown's look of calm contentment and Jake's hesitating 

air. 
Soon the ivories were spotted, and the bank was won by Brown, 
Who rolled thirteen points together, smiling blandly, and sat 

down. 

Jacob followed with a single, failing on a cushion shot. 

Billy added ten to his string, and remarked that " Ten 's a lot." 

By a drive across the table Jacob got the balls in place; 

Up and down the lines he drove them, leading them a merry race. 

Swiftly clicked the balls together, and the buttons on Jake's string 
Flocked together like to blackbirds that have tired upon the wing 
And have settled down to rest awhile upon the slender wire 
That girdles the wide world around and writes down thoughts in 
fire. 



"I46 



" Rank Oiitsidcrsy 



Soon the marker called " One hundred ! " Still from Schaefer's 

magic cue 
One by one the points kept dropping, as at twilight drops the dew. 
Masses, follows, spreads and forces, all were made with easy grace, 
While a startled look of wonder chasedthe smiles from Billy's face. 

Then the marker called " One-eighty," then " One-ninety-nine 

and game. " 
Jacob coolly took Brown's money — asked him would he call again. 
"Who is that?" gasped Brown, in wonder, and his mustache 

upward curled 
As the answer came: "Jake Schaefer, champion player of the 

world." 

In a town in Indiana, known to fame as Kokomo, 

Brown & Son are selling hardware in a little wooden row. 

Billy keeps the books, and answers, when he's asked to play a 

game: 
" No ; I once crossed cues with Schaefer, and I '11 never play again. " 




The New Magdalen. 147 

THE NEW MAGDALEN. 

The Memphis Appeal, some years ago, told the story of a fallen woman of that 
place, Mollie Cook by name, who, owning a gilded palace of sin, turned it into a 
hospital for the yellow-fever sufferers, and with her own hands nursed the sick and dying 
back to life again, until at last, wearied and exhausted with the long watching, she, 
too, fell a prey to the fever. I am told that a marble shaft, the gift of the city, 
marks her last resting-place in the cemetery there; and it seems but a fitting tribute 
to one who gave all she had — her life — to redeem the errors of the past. 

The yellow death came stealing swift 

Up from the river's edge — 
Up from the dark, dank morasses, 

With their tangled fringe of sedge; 
Up from the misty black bayous, 

On the south wind's tainted breath. 
Till the skies grew dark at Memphis 

With shadowy wings of death. 

Then the air grew dense and silent, 

And the wild bird ceased its song. 
While strong men cried out in anguish, 

" How long, O God! how long.?" 
But the skies gave back no answer. 

Death's pitiless scythe still swung 
As the reaper gathered his harvest — 

A harvest of old and young. 

The babe in its cradle sleeping, 

In the flush of the mornine lieht, 
A smile on its dimpled features, 

In a coffin slept at night; 
While the man who knelt at even, 

Thanking God for strength He gave, 
Lay down to sleep at the dawning 

In the cold and narrow erave. 



148 " Rank Outsiders." 

The pavements only echoed back 

The wheels of the passing hearse 
That bore to the silent city 

The victims of the curse — 
The voices of stricken mourners, 

Who heard not the rustling wing,, 
But saw on the sleeper's forehead 

The seal of the Saffron King. 

Then out from a gilded palace 

Of sorrow and sin and shame, 
Clad in her robes of scarlet, 

A fallen woman came. 
And songs of the noisy revel 

Gave place in its stately hall 
To prayers for the sick and dying. 

And a woman's soft foot-fall. 

And back from King Death's dark portals. 

From verge of an unseen land, 
Came many a wandering mortal, 

At touch of that woman's hand; 
Till the fever, wrathful, sullen, 

Touched her with its tainted breath, 
And, asleep in a snowy garment. 

She lay in the arms of Death. 

O girl with the jeweled fingers ! 

O maid with the laces rare ! 
Will that woman's grander action 

Count less than your studied prayer ? 
Have the angels, looking earthward, 

A love that 's tenderer seen 
Than that of this fallen woman, 

The true new Maedalen ? 



The Modern Style. 
THE MODERN STYLE. 



149 



Do you remember, Tom, my boy, the old church on the hill ? 

I used to oro there when a lad, and I can see it still; 

With ivy climbinor o'er the roof and clustering round the door, 

By which I used to wait for Sue in happy days of yore. 

Ah, that was ere my hair turned gray, in days of long ago. 

For Susie many years has slept beneath the winter's snow. 







«-->^-^ w 



" The old church fell to ruins, Tom, beneath the touch of Time." 

The old church fell to ruins, Tom, beneath the touch of Time, 
Yet left somewhere within my heart a mem'ry half divine. 
The preacher of the olden days has been for years at rest, 
And violets blossom in the grass that grows above his breast. 
The old-time choir of rosebud girls have drifted out of sight; 
The leader with his tuning-fork has bid the world good-night. 

They 've built a new church now in town upon a thoroughfare 
That isn't like the old at all. The other night, when there, 
I couldn't help but sit and think about the olden ways 
Of worship, when they feared the Lord and loved to sing His 

praise. 
The ladies didn't go to see which was the latest style 
Of bonnet, and to gossip of their neighbors all the while. 



150 " Ra/i/c Oi(fsi(/c?-s." 

The new church, Tom, is l)uilt of stone, a monument to pride, 

With steeple toweriuL;' to the sky ;uul [)orUils o[)en wide. 

The sunbeams wander in by day throu<^h windows of stained 

L;lass, 
Where shadows turn to clouds of gold, as swift they come and 

pass. 
It costs a thousand dollars, Tom, to rent a pew per year ! 
A pri\ileL;e to worship God is sold now mii^hty dear. 

Tlu' preacher wears a broatlcloth coat, and in a (juiet way 

lie talks about tlu; Lortl as though he met Him every day; 

1 li> never mentions hell at all — 't would make the people smile — 

b\)r hell is something, Tom, that 's gone completely out of style. 

It wouldn't do to tell a man who gambles on the Hoard 

I lis business was not (piit(> the thing and might offentl the Lord; 

And if you barred the grab-bag out and left it in the lurch 

You'd cut off half the revenue that helped to build the church. 

The benches now are cushioned, Tom. so one can pra)^ at ease, 
¥o\- most of folks pray better when it does not hurt their knees. 
You can't expect a business man to kneel upon hard oak. 
And beg the Lord for something when he isn't really "broke." 
1 U' simpU' makes a calm request that Gotl will see him through, 
Antl givi^ him frosted cake for one, instead of bread for two. 

]'\)lks go to church these latter da)'s because it givt\s them tone, 
Lea\'e their religion at the door an^l ni^xer take it home, 
Save in rare instances, perhaps — so rare these latter days 
That those M'ith truc^ religion, Tom, hide it from public gaze: 
They sit in their arm-chairs at home, and read God's holy word, 
Kneel in their closets privately and worship there the Lord. 

The world grows bettcM" day by day, I 'm satisfied of that. 
It's hard to be a Christian, though, and rent a modern flat. 
It 's hard to ha\e to go to church and \\c:\v a tattered coat. 
To hire a pew, way in the rear, and never hear a note 



Sandys Nuooct. 151 

or that sweet singer who is paid a ^old-piece for each sono- — 
To worship God by proxy when you really think it 's wrong-. 



SANDY'S NUGGET. 

(Cai.h'ornma, 1852.) 

Now, jest wait for awhile, 

Jim; step up here an' sniile: 
I 'ni the happiest man in the mountains to-day. 

An' I says it 's my treat. 

Will ye have straio-ht or sweet ? 
Aye, that 's right. Take yer bitters the regular way 

For them toddies an' such 

To my taste aren't much. 
Why, it 's s[/ilin' good liquor to mix 'em that way. 

Well, here's to you, old pard; 

May you hold a trump card 
In the great game of life, I 'm a-wishing to-day. 

Have I struck it 1 I guess 

That I have, old boy. Yes, 
And far richer than ever 'twas struck here afore; 

It 's the first that 's been found 

In these mines. Weighs twelve pound. 
Oh! Where is it? Up-stairs over Mattingly's store. 

Is it pure ? Yes, and sweet 

As that rose at your feet, 
For how could it get soiled on its journey to earthy 

When the angels looked out. 

Keeping guard on the route. 
Till it came to our cabin with sunshine and mirth.'*' 



152 ''Rank Outsiders^ 

As to value, it 's hard 

To assess it yet, pard, 
For it ain't been assayed 'cept by me an' my wife; 

But this 'ere camp don't hold 

Enousfh silver or sfold 
For to buy it. On that you can wager your life. 

Pretty steep, did you say ? 

I don't think so, but — eh ? 
Now, who said it was metal ? I didn't — not I; 

It 's a baby, with eyes 

Just as blue as the skies, 
An' a look like its mother's, so modest an' shy. 

What ! A gal ? Yes, you bet, 

She '11 be somethin' to pet 
For the boys when she gets so she 's runnin' around. 

Fill your glass up again; 

I 'm the first to begin 
On a family — an' here 's to the nugget I 've found. 

II. 
Now, the news of Sandy's fortune was soon spreadabout the camp, 
And the boys, they talked it over that same night at Haley's store. 
And they called it " Sandy's Nugget," and thought him a lucky 
scamp, 
While they hoped he 'd be the father of a half-a-dozen more. 

Then old Jim he said he reckoned, as it was the first to come, 
That it ought to have a send-off, and to this the boys agreed; 

So they called a sort of meeting for to see what should be done, 
To get up a celebration such as never yet was seed., 

Of the diff'rent things suggested thar I haven't time to speak, 
Until Jim proposed together they should call upon the kid 

In their " Sunday-go-to-meetings, " as the wise men went to seek 
Once the Christ-child in the Bible, and should do as those had did. 



Me and yim. 153 

When they entered Sandy's cabin, Night had just let fall her bars, 
And the rough men kissed the baby, and beside it on the bed 

Each one laid a bag of gold dust, while the mother's eyes, like stars, 
Grew so misty with the rain-drops that she turned away her 
head. 

Old Jim came last, and, bending down, he kissed the baby girl, 
And beside her placed a package that was larger than the rest, 

As he said, " Thar, Sandy's Nugget, ye shall be the miners' pearl, 
An' I '11 give ye most o' any, fer I loved yer mother best." 

'T was full twenty thousand dollars that the miners left that night. 

And 't was all for Sandy's Nugget, as the boys had named the 

child. 

" Fer," said Jim, " we '11 make her future, if we can, look gay an' 

briorht. " 

And the richest girl at Haley's Bar looked up at him and smiled. 



ME AND JIM. 

We were both brought up in a country town. 

Was me an' Jim, 
An' the hull world somehow seemed ter frown 

On me an' him. 
At school we never was given a chance 
To I'arn that Africa wasn't in France. 
Patches we wore on the seats o' our pants, 

Did me an' Jim. 

But we grew up hearty, an' hale, an' strong, 

Did me an' Jim; 
We knowed ev'ry note in a thrush's song. 

Did me an' him; 



154 "'Rank Outsiders." 

An' we knowed whar the bluebirds built their nests 
When the spring tripped over the mountains' crests. 
Why the robins all wore their scarlet vests, 
Did me an' Jim. 

Then we fell in love, jest as most folks do, 

Did me an' Jim; 
We was arter the same gal, though, we two, 

That 's me an' him. 
An' she treated us jest alike, did she, 
When at quiltin'-party or huskin'-bee. 
We was even up in the race, you see. 

Was me an' Jim. 

I popped at last, an' she answered me "No." 

Jim followed suit, 
But she wouldn't have him, an' told him so. 

Forbidden fruit 
We called her then, an' I 'm rather afraid 
That we cussed a little; an' then we prayed 
That she 'd live an' she 'd die a plain old maid,, 

Did me an' Jim. 

Then the war broke out, and Company B 

Caught me an' Jim. 
We both on us fit fer the Union — see? — 

Did me an' him; 
An' we heerd the screechin' o' shot an' shell, 
The snarlin' o' drums, an' the rebel yell; 
An' follered the flag through the battles' hell. 

Did me an' Jim. 

'Twas the day that we fit at Seven Oaks, 

Death came to Jim, 
An' excuse me, please, but I sorter chokes 

Talkin' o' him. 




" And we knmved lohai- the />hit hi (i\ ouat tlirn- i!,sU 
When the spring tripped over the 7Houn.ta ills' crests." 



Me and yim. 

Fer his rugg-ed brown hand I held in mine 
Till his soul passed out through the picket line,. 
Whar an angel waited the countersign 
To git from Jim. 

Then I fit along till the war was done, 

Without poor Jim; 
Was given a sword instead of a gun, 

An' thought o' him. 
An' I wore an eagle, when mustered out,, 
On my shoulder-straps, an' I faced about 
Fer the startin'-p'int o' my hull life's route, — 

But not wi' Jim. 

I was quite a man in that country place 

I'd left wi' Jim. 
She gave me a smile with a blushin' face. 

An' asked 'bout him. 
So I told her how, as she sat 'longside. 
Like a soldier brave he had fought an' died, 
An' then — well, I kissed her because she cried - 

Kissed her fer Jim. 

Then I married her one bright day in June, — 

Fer me an' Jim. 
Oft under the light o' the stars an' moon 

We talked o' him. 
An' arter awhile, when a baby came — 
A boy — an' we looked for a proper name. 
His memory comin' up fresh agin, 

We called him Jim. 



157 



•1^8 ''Rank Outsiders^ 

HER EVENING PRAYER. 

When the day burns out in crimson 

All along the western sky; 
When Night's picket-line of shadows 

Draw with stealthy footsteps nigh, 
Steals there softly to my chamber 

Little lass with eyes of blue, 
And a sweet voice softly whispers, 

'^ Can't I say my prayers to you ? " 

Then she straightway kneels before me, 

Clasps her dainty hands in prayer. 
While the firelight's crimson glory 

Turns to burnished gold her hair. 
" Kiss me first," she softly whispers, 

" Den I '11 say dem awful dood." 
And two roguish eyes peer at me 

From beneath her tangled hood. 

Tenderly I bend to kiss her, 

Press my lips on eyes and hair, 
" Now," she says, " Papa, I 'm yeddy, 

You must listen to my prayer." 
From a heart that knows no malice, 

Upward float the simple words. 
To the dear Christ-child who watches 

O'er His children and the birds. 

Listen to her childish whisper — 

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild." 
Soft and low the sweet petition — 

"Look upon a little child." 
Sinks her voice into a murmur — 

" Pity my simplicity." 
Angels scarce can hear the prayerful 

" Suffer me to come to Thee." 



My Fathei's Mill. 159 

*' Oh, fain would I be brought to Thee, 

Dracious Lord; forbid it not." 
Falls the golden head still lower 

Of my sleepy little tot. 
Eye-lids now are growing heavy. 

"In the kingdom of Thy drace," — 
Hear, O Christ, the faintly whispered 

" Div a little child a place." 

"Amen" follows, uttered quickly. 

As she starts up wide-awake, 
Wraps her snowy robes about her, 

Gives her saucy head a shake. 
*' Didn't say dem all," she whispers, 

"Taus my eyes tept shuttin' tight. 
Played too hard; besides, I 'm finkin 

Maybe Dod is tired to-night." 



MY FATHER'S MILL. 

Ah, how well I remember the old brown mill 

That never was quiet the whole day long, 
For the noisy hopper would never keep still. 

And the wheels forever were humming a song 
As they answered the poor man's whispered prayer 

That he breathed each night by his lowly bed. 
While the dust hung thick in the troubled air — 

" We are grinding for God thy daily bread." 

Oh, the old mill's loft was a haunted place. 

And the dust lay thick on the rough board floor. 

While over the rafters the rats would race 
As I laid my hand on its shrunken door, 



i6o " Rank Otctszders." 

Hurrying, scurrying, scampering by — 
Then peering out from their holes at me, 

With a friendly nod and a laughing eye 

That said, " We are stealing the corn, you see." 

But the miller, who stood with his dusty coat, 

Whistling low, in the old mill-door, 
And setting the ghost of a song afloat 

On the air, has crossed to the other shore. 
Carrying with him the dreams he dreamed 

As the yellow meal, like a cloud, unrolled 
From the wooden spout in the wall, and streamed 

To the floor beneath in a shower of orold. 



t> 



Now a stranger stands in the miller's place, 

With a coat as white as the one he wore. 
And two black eyes, from a round, red face. 

Peer out at me from the open door; 
And I hear the hum of the whirling wheels, 

That turn the stones with a giant's power, 
And I see the dust as it noiseless steals 

Through the old brown mill, like the ghost of flour. 

Ah me ! how the years have marched along. 

Since I tied the bags in that dingy place. 
Where the wheels kept time to the miller's song 

And the buckets laughed in their upward race. 
But still I hear in my dreams, to-day, 

The sound of the hopper, never stilly 
And I fancy I see the rats at play 

In the haunted loft of my father's mill. 




The Old-Fashioned Way. 



i6i 




The girls snuggled in, 
7vitk the boys at their 
side." 



"■^^->, 



THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY. 

Oh, g-ive me a ride in the old-fashioned sleigh 

With the old-fashioned girls that I knew in my youth, 

Whose hearts were as light as the snow of to-day 

And whose eyes held a promise of sunshine and truth. 

And give me the horses we bred on the farm, 

With their steady, slow ways as they traveled the road, 

And give me the laughter and cries of alarm 
That came from the girls in the overturned load. 

'T was a plain wagon-box that was half filled with straw, 
That the girls snuggled in, with the boys at their side, 

And the buffalo robes, by an unwritten law, 

Were compelled to conceal what they sheltered with pride. 

Then a sly kiss was stolen sometimes for a lark, 

When the shadows lay heavy and thick on the way. 
' 'T was the driver's whip only that cracked in the dark, " 
We explained, and the lassies ne'er gave it away. 

Oh, the buffalo robes were ne'er heavy enough, 

And the lassies, God bless 'em, they had to keep warm; 

So waists were encircled with warm woolen stuff 
That hid in its linings a masculine arm. 



i62 ''Rank Outsiders.'' 

Then just before dawn, at the night's darkest time, 
When the lassies were left at the low cottage gate, 

Came the whispered good-night from lips redder than wine, 
And a kiss that was granted because it was late. 



THE SENTINEL'S STORY. 

We were standing on picket, he and I, 
Out under the stars of a midnight sky, 
In the Wilderness, where the night bird's song 
Gives back an echo the whole night long; 
Where the silver stars, as they come and pass, 
Leave their stars of dew on the tangled grass; 
Where the rivers sing in the darkest hours 
Their sweetest songs to the listening flowers. 

He 'd a slender form and a girlish face, 

That I thought in the army out of place; 

Though he smiled when I told him so one day — 

Aye, smiled and blushed in a girlish way 

That minded me of a face I knew, 

In a Northern village 'neath the blue. 

When the army marched by the meadow bars 

She 'd kissed me, watched by the laughing stars. 

Right before us the river silent ran. 

We two had been placed there to guard the ford,- 
A dangerous place, — and we 'd jump and start 

Each time that a leaf by the wind was stirred. 
Behind us the army lay encamped; 

Their camp-fires burned into the night 
Like bonfires built upon the hills, 
And set by demon hands alight. 



The Sentincr s Story. 

Somehow, whenever I looked his way, 
I seemed to see her face again, 

Kind o' hazy-Hke, as you 've seen a star 
A-peepin' out through a misty rain; 



163 




" ^ Tivas just in the flush of the morning light, — 
IVe '(/ stopped for a chat at the end of ojcr beat." 



And once, I beheve, as I thought of her, 
I thought aloud, and I called him Bess, 

When he started quick, and smiling said, 

" You dream of some one at home, I guess." 



164 ''Rank Outsiders^ 

'T was just in the flush of the morninof Heht — 

We 'd stopped for a chat at the end of our beat 
When a rifle flashed at the river's bank, 

And, bathed in blood, he sank at my feet. 
All of a sudden I knew her then, 

And kneelinor I kissed the girlish face, 
And raised her head from the taneled erass 

To find on my breast a restin§--place. 

When the corporal came to change the guard 

At six in the morning, he found me there, 
With Bessie's dead form clasped in my arms. 

And hid in my heart her dying prayer. 
We buried her under the moaning pines, 

And never a man in the army knew 
That dead Will Searles and my girl were one. 

You 're the first I 've told — the story is true. 



MERCY MAY. 

We were lovers, Mercy May and I, 

In the summers lonof aofo, 
When life was bright with love's young dream 
And lily bells beside the stream 

Swung softly to and fro; 
Ere came November's chilline winds, 

And fell the winter's snow. 

She was all the world to me, and I 

Dream of her still to-day, 
As of a sunbeam, warm and bright, 
That lightened up life's stormy night, 

A rainbow in the spray; 
Or as a vision vanishing 

Thro' heaven's gates away. 



Mercy May. 



165 




She sang. The meadow-lark that sprang 

From out the grass was still. 
Clear as a flute that sweet voice rang 

O'er valley, wood and hill. 
And where she walked the violets grew 
And opened wide their eyes of blue, 
Tear-dimmed, and misty with the dew 

That stars at even spill. 

'T was in the golden days of June 

I said to Mercy May, 
The while we stood beside the sea: 
" I love you; come and walk with me 

To lighten life's dark way." 
She bent her golden head and blushed. 

But did not answer nay. 

The summer sunbeams came and went; 

The wheat-fields turned to gold; 
The nights grew longer, one by one, 
And shadows lengthened in the sun 

As summer's days grew old; 
The roses, blushing, bloomed and died — 

Were earth in earthy mold. 



1 66 Tales of the Ttcrf. 

As die the roses, so she died 

One golden autumn day. 
The angel with the rustling- wings, 
Before whose touch earth's proudest kings 

Become as common clay. 
Touched her with fingers icy cold, 

And beckoned her away. 

Now I alone am left to weep, 

To listen and to wait 
The coming of the boatman pale 
To row me through the misty veil, 

And open wide the gate 
Where Mercy May will welcome me.— = 

She promised she would wait. 




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